Saturday 5 December 2015

Bezmenov










G. Edward Griffin: Our conversation is with Mr. Yuri Alexandrovich Bezmenov. Mr. Bezmenov was born in 1939 in a suburb of Moscow. He was the son of a high-ranking Soviet army officer. He was educated in the elite schools inside the Soviet Union and became an expert in Indian culture and Indian languages. He had an outstanding career with Novosti, which was the—and still is, I should say—the press arm or the press agency of the Soviet Union; it turns out that this is also a front for the KGB. One of his interesting assignments was to brainwash foreign diplomats when they visited Moscow. And he’ll tell us a little bit about how they did this, and how they planted information which eventually wound up in the press of the free world. He escaped to the West in 1970, after becoming totally disgusted with the Soviet system, and he did this at great risk to his life. He certainly is one of the world’s outstanding experts on the subject of Soviet propaganda and disinformation and active measures. Mr. Bezmenov, I’d like to begin by having you tell us a little bit about some of your childhood memories.

Yuri Bezmenov: Well, the most vivid memory of my childhood was [the] second World War, or to be more precise, the end of the second World War, when all of a sudden [the] United States, from a friendly nation which helped us to defeat Nazism, turned overnight into a deadly enemy. And it was very shocking, because all [the] newspapers were trying to present an image of belligerent, aggressive American imperialism. Most of the things that we were taught [were] that [the] United States is [an] aggressive power which is just about to invade our beautiful, free socialist country; that [the] American CIA is dropping Colorado beetles on our beautiful potato fields to eliminate our crops, and each schoolboy had a picture of [a] Colorado bug on the back page of his notebook, and we were instructed to go into collective fields to search for those little Colorado bugs. Of course we couldn’t find any. Neither [could we] find many potatoes, and that was explained again by the encroachments of the decadent, imperialist power.

The anti-American paranoia [and] hysteria in the Soviet propaganda was of such a high degree that many less skeptical people (or less stubborn) would really believe that [the] United States is just about to invade our beautiful Motherland, and some secretly hoped that it [would] come true.

Griffin: That’s interesting. Well, getting back to life inside the Soviet Union, or inside Communist countries in general: In this country, at the university level primarily, we read and hear that the Soviet system is different from ours, but not that different. And that there is a convergence developing between all of the systems of the world, and that really it doesn’t make an awful lot of difference what system you live under because you have corruption and dishonesty and tyranny and all that sort of thing. From your personal experience, what is the difference between life under Communism and life in the United States?

Bezmenov: Well, life is obviously very much different for [the] simple reason that the Soviet Union is state capitalist economically. It’s a state capitalism, where an individual has absolutely no rights, no value; his life is nothing; it’s just like an insect. He is disposable. Where[as] in [the] United States even the worst criminal is treated as a human being, he has a fair trial, and some of them capitalize on their crimes; they publish their memoirs in their prisons, and get handsomely paid by your crazy publishers.

The differences of course in the daily life are very various, depending on who were are talking about. In my own private life, I never suffered from Communism, simply because I was brought up in a family of [a] high-ranking military officer. Most of the doors were open for me, most of my expenses were paid by the government, and I never had any troubles with the authorities or with the police. So, in other words, I would say I enjoyed, or I had good reasons to enjoy, all the advantages of [the] so-called ‘socialist’ system. My main motivations to defect had nothing to do with affluence. It was mainly moral indignation, moral protest: rebellion against the inhuman methods of the Soviet system.

Griffin: Well, specifically, what did you object to?

Bezmenov: I objected, first of all, [to the] oppression of my own dissidents and intellectuals, and that was the most disgusting thing that I witnessed as a young man, young student, who was brought up at [a] very troublesome period in our history, from Stalin to Khrushchev, from total tyranny and oppression to some kind of liberalization.

Second, when I started working for the Soviet embassy in India, to my horror I discovered that we are millions [of] times more oppressive than any colonial or imperialist power in the history of mankind, that my country brings to India not freedom, progress, and friendship between the nations, but racism, exploitation, and slavery, and of course economical inefficiency to this country. Since I fell in love with India, I developed something which by KGB standards is [an] extremely dangerous thing. It’s called ‘split loyalty’: when an agent likes a country of assignment more than his own country. I literally fell in love with this beautiful country, a country of great contrasts, but also great humility, great tolerance and philosophical and intellectual freedoms. My ancestors used to live in caves and eat raw meat when India was [a] highly civilized nation, six thousand years ago. So obviously the choice was not to the advantage of my own nation. I decided to defect, and to entirely disassociate myself from the brutal regime.

Griffin: Mr. Bezmenov, we’ve read a lot about the concentration camps, and the slave labor camps under the Stalin regime. Now the general impression in America is that those things are part of the past. Are they still going on today, or what is the status?

Bezmenov: Yes, yes. There is no qualitative change in the Soviet concentration camp system. There are changes in [the] numbers of prisoners. Again, [these are] unreliable Soviet statistics. We don’t know how many political prisoners are there in the Soviet concentration camps. But we sure know from various sources, that at each particular time, there are close to 25 to 30 million of Soviet citizens who are virtually kept as slaves in [the] forced labor camp system. [The] size of [the] population of [a] country like Canada is serving terms as prisoners. (G: Incredible) So I would say that those intellectuals who try to convince [the] American public that [the] concentration camp system is a thing of the past are either conscientiously misleading public opinion or they are not very intellectual people; they are selectively blind; they lack intellectual honesty when they say that.

Griffin: Well, we’ve spoken about the intellectuals in this country, and also the intellectuals in the Soviet Union. What about down at the broad, mass level? Do the people in general, the working people, the workers in general in the Soviet Union, do they support the system, do they tolerate it? What is their attitude?

Bezmenov: Well, [the] average Soviet citizen, if there is such an animal of course, does not like the system because it hurts; it kills. He may not understand the reasons; he may not have enough information or educational background to understand, but I doubt very much there are many people who are conscientiously supporting the Soviet system. There are not such people in [the] USSR. Even those who have all the reasons to enjoy socialism, people like myself, who are member[s] of [the] journalistic elite—they also hate [the] system for different reasons, though. Not because they lack material affluence, but because they are unfree to think, they are in constant fear. (Duplicity, split personality.) And this is a [great] tragedy for my nation.

Griffin: Well what do you think are the chances of the people actually overcoming their system or replacing it?

Bezmenov: There is a great possibility that [the] system will sooner or later be destroyed from within. There is a self-destructive mechanism built into any socialist, or communist, or fascist system, because there is [a] lack of feedback, because the system does not rely upon loyalty of [the] population. But until the Soviet junta is [no longer] being supported by the Western so-called ‘imperialists,’ that is, multinational companies, establishments, governments, and, let’s face it, intellectuals. (So-called ‘academia’ in the United States is famous for supporting the Soviet system.)

As long as the Soviet junta [keeps] on receiving credits, money, technology, grain deals, and political recognition, from all these traitors of democracy or freedom, there is no hope—there is not much hope—for changes in my country. And the system will not collapse by itself, simply because it’s being nourished by so-called ‘American imperialism.’ This is the greatest paradox in [the] history of mankind, when [the] capitalist world supports and actively nourishes its own destroyer (destructor).

Griffin: I think you’re trying to tell us something… to this country.

Bezmenov: Oh yes. I am trying to tell you that it has to be stopped, unless you want to end up in [a] gulag system, and enjoy all the advantages of socialist equality, working for free, catching fleas on your body, sleeping on planks of plywood, in Alaska this time, I guess. That’s where Americans will belong unless they will wake up, of course, and force their government to stop aiding Soviet fascism.

Griffin: Well you told us a moment ago why you left the system. I’d like to hear the details of how you did it. It must have been a very dangerous thing.

Bezmenov: It was not so dangerous; it was crazy. First of all because defecting in India is virtually impossible, thanks to very strong pressure from the Soviet government…

Griffin: Excuse me. You were in India, on assignment, at the time?

Bezmenov: Yes. I was working for the Soviet embassy in New Delhi as a press officer, and defecting for a Soviet diplomat is next-to-impossible; it’s a suicide, as I said, because ‘Great Friend’ Indira Gandhi pushed a law through Parliament, which says, and I quote: “No defector from any country has a right of political asylum in any embassy on the territory of [the] Indian Republic.” Which is a masterpiece of hypocrisy; no other defector but the Soviet one needs a political asylum.

So knowing that perfectly well, I planned [the] craziest possible way to defect. I studied counter-culture in India. There were thousands of young American boys and girls with no shoes, long hair, smoking hash and marijuana, studying sometimes Indian philosophy, sometimes simply pretending that they studied, and they greatly annoyed Indian police and they were [the] laughingstock of Indians. (Because obviously they were good-for-nothing students.) I studied carefully where they congregate, what routes they travel, what language they speak, what do they smoke, and one day I simply joined a group of hippies to avoid detection [by] Indian police. I was dressed as a typical hippy with blue jeans, long camise shirts with all kind[s] of nice decorations like beads—long hairs… I bought a wig because for several weeks I had to turn myself from a conservative Soviet diplomat into a very progressive American hippy. And that was the only way I could avoid detection.

It was [a] very interesting experience, but it was necessary because from my own knowledge as a member of [the] Soviet embassy staff, I knew that there were many cases when Soviet defectors were betrayed by Indian police, and also some Western embassies played a very dirty role in betraying the Soviet defectors. According to our information, there were some—I wouldn’t call them ‘double agents’—but simply immoral people, working for the United State embassy, and confiding in people like this would be a suicide. So I had to be extremely careful; I could not trust anyone. And that was the reason for such a crazy way to defect.

Griffin: Well, had you been caught in the act of trying to get out, what would have happened to you?

Bezmenov: Oh, most likely I would end up in [a] concentration camp. Or, depending on the situation, on the whim of some bureaucrat in [the] KGB, maybe even executed (this is normal practice), quietly of course, not publicly. But that would be the end of my defection, of course.

Griffin: Well, when did you finally make it to the United States?

Bezmenov: In 1970, after about six month[s] of debriefing in Athens by the CIA, and I presume FBI too, they let me go, first to Germany, then to Canada. That was my decision; I had to change my identity to protect my family and my friends in [the] USSR. And also I was [a] little bit paranoid knowing that both Soviet KGB and probably some double-agents within [the] American system may be after me. So I wanted to settle down as far away as possible. I requested [for the] CIA to give me some kind of new identity, and just let me go on my own. And I settled in Canada. I was a student; I changed many professions, from farm help and laundry truck driver to language instructor and broadcaster for Canadian Broadcasting Corporation in Montreal.

Griffin: Have you had any threats on your life, or any unpleasantries…?

Bezmenov: Yes. In about five years, [the] KGB eventually discovered that I [was] working for Canadian broadcasting. I made a very big mistake. I started working for [the] overseas service of [the] CBC, which is similar to Voice of America, in Russian language, and of course [the] monitoring service in [the] USSR picked up every new voice—every new announcer they would make it a point to discover who he is—and in five years, sure enough, slowly but surely, they discovered that I am not Tomas [David] Schuman, that I am Yuri Alexandrovich Bezmenov, and that I am working for Canadian broadcasting, and undermining [the] beautiful détente between Canada and [the] USSR. And the Soviet ambassador Aleksandr Yakovlev made it his personal effort to discredit me; he complained to Pierre Trudeau, who is known to be [a] little bit soft on socialism, and the management of CBC behaved in a very strange, cowardly way, unbecoming of representatives of an independent country like Canada. They listened to every suggestion that [the] Soviet ambassador gave, and they started [a] shameful investigation, analyzing [the] content of my broadcasts to [the] USSR. Sure enough, they discovered that some of my statements were probably too... would be offending to the Soviet politburo. So I had to leave my job.

And of course, subtle intimidations: They would say something like, 'Please cross the street carefully, because, you know, traffic is very heavy in Quebec.' And fortunately I know about the psychology and the logic of activity of the KGB; I never allowed myself to be intimidated. This is the worst thing. This is what they expect a person, a defector, to be: intimidated. Once they spot that you are scared, they keep on developing that line, and then eventually you either have to give up entirely and work for them; or they neutralize you, they would definitely stop all kind[s] of political activity, which they failed to do in my case. Because I was stubbornly working for the Canadian Broadcasting [Corporation], and in response to their intimidations, I said that, ‘Look: this is a free country, and I am as free as you are, and I also can drive very fast, and gun control is not yet established in Canada, so I have [a] couple of good shotguns in my basement, so [you are] welcome to visit me some day, with your Kalashnikovs, machine guns.’

So obviously it didn’t work; intimidation didn’t work. So they tried [a] different approach, as I described the approach: on the highest level, on the level of Canadian bureaucracy.

Griffin: On that level they were successful.

Bezmenov: On that level they were successful. On [the] individual level, they failed, flat.

Griffin: Mr. Bezmenov has brought a series of slides with him that he has taken from the Soviet Union, and I think this is a good time to take a look at the slides. Now, the viewers will be able to see these slides as we talk about them.

Bezmenov: Yes. This is a collection of slides which are… some of them are snapshots from my family album, some of them are documents which I smuggled from the Soviet embassy, and some are reproductions from local mass media. I usually show them to establish my credibility as a defector.

This is a picture of my native town Mytishchi, about twenty miles north [of] Moscow. Characteristically there is a statue of Comrade Lenin in the central square.

This [me] at the age of seven, again characteristically, under [a] statue of Comrade Stalin extending his friendly hand to peoples of the world. At that age of course I was still [an] idealistically-minded young Communist, and I still believed that sooner or later, things [would] go for [the] better, but I realized that the system stinks, that something is fishy, and that [the] ideology is fake, and the propaganda about advanced Soviet agriculture simply didn’t meet the criteria of reality. If they talk about abundance of food and there is none in the stores, there must be something wrong.

My father was—he is on the left here—my father was [an] officer of the general staff of the Soviet army; he was inspector of Land Forces, Soviet troops stationed in countries like Mongolia, Cuba, [and] East European countries. Were he alive today, most likely he would be inspecting Soviet troops in Nicaragua, Angola, and many other parts of the world. Fortunately, he died and he didn’t see the disgrace, because deep inside he was a Russian patriot; he didn’t like the idea of expanding Soviet military might, especially in the areas where we were not welcome at all.

Unlike many other military officers, he was reporting directly to the Minister of Defense, bypassing [the] KGB and [the] Diplomatic Service. In other words, he was a trusted military professional, and [it is] my impression that this type of people [is] much less hawkish and adventuristic than [the] Party bureaucrats in [the] Kremlin. When American mass media describes [the] Soviet military as [a] potentially dangerous counterpart for [the] Pentagon, I simply laugh, because I know better. I know that the most dangerous part[s] of the Soviet power structures are not military at all; most likely if they come to power in my country they’ll be more sensible negotiators for nuclear disarmament and withdrawal of the Soviet troops from many parts of the world.

Griffin: But if someone from the Party structure, or the KGB structure, were to give the orders for military...

Bezmenov: They have to obey, yes, because they are professional military. But they… you see, the triangle of power and hate in [the] USSR is the Party at the top (the Party elite, the oligarchy of the Party), then the military and the KGB at the bottom. They hate each other. And the most hated corner of the triangle is the Communist Party bureaucrats. They are the most adventuristic, senile megalomaniacs. They can start war—I wouldn’t be surprised—not the military. They know what war is. At least my father did.

This is [a] picture taken at the entrance of my Institute of Oriental Languages. It’s a part of Moscow State University. I graduated in 1963, and I…

Griffin: Excuse me. Which one were you?

Bezmenov: I am on the right. And on the left is my colleague, my schoolmate Vadim Smirnoff, who later was [an] apparatchik in the Central Committee of the Soviet Union Communist Party.

Griffin: What is an apparatchik?

Bezmenov: It’s a functionary, something like civil service in [the] British Empire, someone who is never fired from the service; he stays there internally. He may not be promoted too high, but he is a dependable bureaucrat, who will stay forever.


I studied not only languages but also history, literature, [and] even music. [In] this picture I am trying to learn how to play [an] Indian musical instrument.


I even tried to look like an Indian when I was [a] second-year student.

Griffin: Not bad, really.

Bezmenov: Yes. Actually, it was strongly encouraged by the instructors in my school because the graduates of my school were later on employed as diplomats, foreign journalists, or spies.

As every Soviet student, I was quote-unquote ‘volunteering’ for harvesting grain in Kazakhstan. This is a [big] agricultural blunder of the Soviet government, but I didn’t have much choice of course, because the Communist motto, borrowed from The Bible, says, ‘Those who do not work, shall not eat,’ and as you can see me eating, therefore I was working, and you can see how happy I was about it.

I went through a very extensive physical and military training,


including the military games in the suburban areas of Moscow; and here, for example, we are [on tour] in [the] [Arkhangelsk ?] area.

And by the end of my training in school, I was recruited by the KGB. This picture was taken on that day and you can see, again, how happy it feels to be recruited by the KGB.

[Commercial Break]

Continued from Part One.

Bezmenov: All right. As every student in [the] USSR, I went through very extensive physical and military training, and civil defense training too. Unlike in [the] United States, where civil defense in virtually nonexistent—zero—in [the] USSR, every student, whatever his major subject, has to go through very extensive four-year military and civil defense training. You can see me here with a group of students during one of the ‘war games’ near Moscow. [Previous page, bottom left.] The main idea, of course, is to prepare [a] huge reserve army of the USSR. Each student has to graduate as a Junior Lieutenant. In my case it was Administrative and Military Intelligence Service.

My first assignment was to India as a translator with the Soviet [Economic] Aid Group, building refinery complexes in Bihar State and Gujarat State. At that time I was still naively, idealistically believing that what I was doing contribute[d] to the understanding and cooperation between the nations. It took me quite a number of years to realize that what we were bringing of India was a new type of colonialism, [a] thousand times more oppressive and exploitative than any colonialism and imperialism in [the] history of mankind. But at that time I was still hoping that well, maybe it’s not that bad, [it] could be worse, and things may go for [the] better. And I even tried to implement the beautiful Marxist motto, ‘Proletarians of all the countries unite!’

I tried to unite with a nice Indian girl. And actually I was fascinated by the Indian culture, by family life in this country. But obviously [the] Communist Party had different plans for my genes, so I had to marry this beautiful Russian girl:

In the span of my career, I married three times. Most of these marriages were marriages of convenience on advice from the Department of Personnel. This was [a] normal practice in [the] USSR. When a Soviet citizen is assigned to a foreign job, he has to be married, either to keep [his] family in [the] USSR as hostages, or, if it’s a convenience marriage like mine, so that the husband and wife are virtually informers on each other, to prevent defection or contamination by ‘decadent imperialist or capitalist ideas.’ In my case, I hated that girl so much that the moment I landed in Moscow we were divorced and I married later a second time.

By the end of my first assignment in India, I was promoted to the position of Public Relation Officer. You can see me here, translating a speech by a Soviet boss…

Griffin: And you’re on the right?

Bezmenov: I am on the right here, yes. The occasion was [the] commission of the refinery complex in Bihar [in] Barauni.

Back in Moscow, I was immediately recruited by Novosti Press Agency, which is a propaganda and ideological subversion front for the KGB. 75% of the members of the Novosti are commissioned officers of the KGB. The other 25 are, like [me], co-opted agents who are assigned to specific operations. In this particular case you can see me talking to students of Lumumba Friendship University in Moscow.

This is a huge school under the direct control of the KGB and [the] Central Committee, where future leaders of the so-called ‘National Liberation Movements’ are being educated and selected carefully, and some of them have absolutely...

This, for example, is a group of students from Lumumba. They don’t look like students at all; they look more like military, and that’s exactly what they were. They were dispatched back to their countries to be leaders of the so-called ‘National Liberation Movements,’ or, to be translated into normal human language, leaders of international terrorist groups.

Another area of activity when I was working for the Novosti [Press Agency] was to accompany groups of so-called ‘progressive intellectuals’: writers, journalists, publishers, teachers, [and] professors of colleges.

You can see here in [the] Kremlin, I am [the] second on the left, with a group of Pakistani and Indian intellectuals. Most of them pretended [that] they don’t understand that we are actually working on behalf of the Soviet government and the KGB. They pretended that they are actually being guests—VIP intellectuals—that they are treated according to their merits and their intellectual abilities. For us they were just a bunch of political prostitutes to be taken advantage [of] for various propaganda operations.

Therefore you can see perfectly well the senior colleague of mine on the left doesn’t really have that much respect on his face, and [me] with a very skeptical smile, [a] typical KGB sarcastic smile, anticipating another victim of ideological brainwashing.

This is how a typical conference in [the] Novosti headquarters in Moscow [looks]. Sitting in the middle is Boris Burkov, the then director of Novosti Press Agency, [a] high-ranking Party bureaucrat in the Department of Propaganda. I am standing next to a famous Indian poet, Sumitranandan Pant. He was famous because he was the author of a famous poem, [entitled], ‘Rhapsody to Lenin.’ That’s why he was invited to [the] USSR, and everything was paid [for] by the Soviet government.

Pay special attention to [the] number of bottles on the table. This is one of the ways to kill the awareness, or curiosity of foreign journalists. One of my functions was to keep foreign guests permanently intoxicated. The moment they landed at Moscow Airport, I had to take them to the VIP Lounge and toast to friendship and understanding between the nations of the world. [A] glass of vodka, then a second glass of vodka, and in no time my guests would be feeling very happy, they would see everything in [a] kind of pink, nice color, and that’s the way I had to keep them permanently for the next fifteen or twenty days.

At [a] certain point in time, I had to withdraw alcohol from them, so that some of them who are the most recruitable would feel a little bit shaky, guilty, trying to remember what they were talking [about] last night... That’s the time to approach them with all kind[s] of nonsense such as ‘Joint Communiqué’ or [a] statement for Soviet propaganda. That’s the time they are the most flexible. And of course what they didn’t understand—they didn’t realize or pretended not to realize that [I], who was drinking together with them, was not drinking at all; I had ways to get rid of alcohol through various techniques, including special pills which were given to me by colleagues. But they were taking it seriously; in other words, they would consume quite a large [volume] of alcohol and feel quite uneasy [the] next morning.

In 1967, the KGB attached me to this magazine, Look magazine. A group of twelve people arrived in [the] USSR from [the] United States to cover the 50th Anniversary of [the] October Socialist Revolution in my country.

From the first page to the last page, it was a package of lies: propaganda cliché[s] which were presented to American readers as opinions and deductions of American journalists.

Nothing could be [further] from [the] truth. These were not opinions; they were not opinions at all. They were the clichés which the Soviet propaganda [wanted the] American public to think that they think—if [that makes] any sense at all. It sure does, because from the viewpoint of the Soviet propaganda, although there are some subtle criticism[s] of the Soviet system, the basic message is that Russia today is a nice, functioning, efficient system, supported by [the] majority of [the] population.

That’s the biggest lie, and of course, American intellectuals and journalists from Look magazine elaborated on that untruth in various different ways. The intellectual lies that lie... they found all kind[s] of justifications for telling lies to [the] American public.

And this is...

Griffin: Excuse me. It was partly your job to make sure they got these ideas…

Bezmenov: Yes.

Griffin: ...and accepted them as their own ideas.

Bezmenov: Right. Actually, before they arrived to [the] USSR, and they paid [an] astronomical sum of money for that visit, they were submitted… the Novosti Press Agency developed so-called ‘backgrounders,’ 20, 25 pages of information and opinions which were presented to the journalists even before they bought their tickets to Moscow. They had to analyze the situation, and judging on their reaction to that backgrounder, the local Novosti representative or local Soviet diplomat in Washington, D.C. would assess whether they [should] be given [a] visa to [the] USSR or not.

Griffin: They were selected ahead of time?

Bezmenov: Oh yes. They were pre-selected very carefully, and there is not much [of a] chance for honest journalists to arrive to [the] USSR , to stay there for one year, and to bring this package of lies back home.

This, for example, is a centerfold of the Look magazine. They presented this monument, erected by [the] Communist Party in Stalingrad, as the symbol, [the] personification of Russian military might. And they said in the article, which is published on the side, that Soviets are very proud of the victory in the Second World War. This is another big myth, a lie. No sensible people would be proud to lose twenty [million] of their countrymen in a war which was started by [?] Hitler and Comrade Stalin, and paid [for] by American multinationals.

Most of the Soviet citizens look at [these types] of monuments with disgust and sorrow, because every family lost [a] father, brother, sister, or child in the Second World War. Yet, American journalists who were trying to appease—to please—their hosts presented this picture on the centerfold as the symbol and personification of Soviet national—they call it ‘Russian’—national spirit. And it was [the] greatest, greatest misconception and a very tragic misunderstanding. Of course, Look magazine was not distributed in [the] USSR. The main audience was in [the] United States, but I presume that many Americans—millions of Americans—who were reading Look magazine at that time had [an] absolutely wrong idea about the sentiments of my nation, about what the Soviets are proud of, and what they hate.

This is a group—you see the same lady with the sword, in Stalingrad—of journalists. [I am] in the center with the same devilish smile, and Mr. Philip Harrington is on the extreme left there, with his camera.

This is the gentleman [who] was so daft or so uninterested in what I had to say to him. [Close-up of Harrington] This is the same picture, a blow-up of the same picture.

Many guests from various countries—in this particular case from Asia and Africa—were taken by me, as a Novosti Press Agency employee, for a tour across Siberia, for example. We would show them [a] typical kindergarten, you see? Nothing special by American standards: just nice children sitting eating their breakfast, or lunch. What they could not understand, or they pretended not to understand, [is] that this is an exemplary kindergarten; this is not the kindergarten for [an] average person, or average family in [the] USSR. And we maintain that illusion in their minds. You can see [me] under the red spot in the needle there, with the same businesslike expression. I am doing my job; that’s what I am assigned to do and that’s what I was paid to do. But deep inside, I still hoped that at least some of these useful idiots would understand that what they are looking at has nothing to do with the level of affluence in my nation.

This is a better picture, which reflects the true ‘spirit’ of the Soviet childhood. This picture was printed in a Canadian government publication by mistake. In the middle, you can see children playing on a small courtyard. And the caption goes, ‘This is a typical kindergarten in Siberia.’ What these idiots didn’t understand [was] that it is not [a] kindergarten at all. It is a prison for children of political prisoners. But there was not a single [mention] that what they were visiting actually was an area of concentration camps. And [it was] the job of people like myself, to help them not to notice that they are actually talking to prisoners. Most of the children were dressed, especially on the occasion of the foreigners’ visit. Of course there were no corpses on the ground. There were no machine gun guards. And well it looks not very pleasant as you see; it looks dull, but obviously does not create an impression that this is actually a prison.

Griffin: Well, did any of the journalists have the curiosity to ask about prisons and that kind of thing? They were in Siberia; this is what you associate with it.

Bezmenov: Yes, yes. Some of them asked questions, and naturally we would give them... for the stupid question, we’d give them [a] stupid answer. ‘No, there are no prisons in Siberia. No, most of the people who you see are free citizens of [the] USSR; they are very happy to be here, and they are contributing to the glory of the socialist system.’ Some of them pretended that they believed what I was telling them and most of them—we may discuss it later: What are the motivations of these people? Why would they stubbornly bring lies to their own population through their own mass media? I have various answers to this; there is not a single explanation. It’s a complex of explanations.

It’s fear: pure biological fear. They understand that they are on the territory of an enemy state, a police state, and just to save their rotten skins and their miserable jobs, their affluence back home, they would prefer to tell a lie than to ask truthful questions and report truthful information.

Second, most of these schmucks were afraid to lose their jobs, because, obviously, if you tell [the] truth about my country, you will not last long as a correspondent of [The] New York Times or [The] Los Angeles Times. They will fire you. ‘What kind of correspondent are you? You obviously cannot find common language with Russians if they kick you out within 24 hours.’ So just by trying to be conformist to their own editorial bosses, they tried not to offend the sentiments of the Soviet administrators and people like myself. Deep inside, I hoped they would insult or offend my sentiment. Obviously they preferred not to.

Another reason—I refuse to believe it, but obviously there is another reason—obviously it’s agreed: these people earn a lot of money. When they come back to [the] USA, they claim that they are experts on my country. They write books which [sell] a million copies. Title[s] like ‘Russians: The Truth about Russia.’ Most of it is [a] lie about Russia. Yet they claim to be ‘Sovietologists.’ They play back [the] myth about my country, the propaganda clichés. Yet they stubbornly resist the word of truth if a person like Solzhenitsyn is either defecting or kicked out of [the] USSR. They try all their best to discredit him and to discourage him. I don’t have much chance to appear on [a] national network with the true story about my country, but a useful idiot like [Hedrick] Smith or Robert Kaiser... They are big heroes; they come back from [the] USSR; they say, ‘Oh we were talking to dissidents in Russia!’ Big deal! Soviet dissidents are chasing American correspondents in the streets. And they are cowardly escaping from these contacts.

For some strange reason, if you want to know more about Spain, you refer to Spanish writers; if you want to learn more about [the] French, you read French writers; even about Antarctica, I bet, you would read penguins. Only about the Soviet Union, for some strange reason, you read Hendricks and Schmendricks and all kind[s] of Kissingers. Because they claim they know more about my country. They know nothing, or next to nothing. Or they pretend that they know more than they actually do. I would say they are dishonest people who lack integrity and common sense and intellectual honesty. They bring back all kind[s] of stories like that—[indicates the slide of children on a playground]—‘a kindergarten in Siberia,’ omitting the most important fact: it’s a prison for children of political prisoners.

Another [great] example of [the] monumental idiocy of American politicians: Edward Kennedy was in Moscow, and he thought that he [was] a popular, charismatic American politician, who is easygoing, who can smile, dance at the wedding in [the] Russian Palace of Marriages. What he did not understand—or maybe he pretended not to understand—[was] that actually he was being taken for a ride. This is a staged wedding especially to impress foreign media or useful idiots like Ed Kennedy. Most of the guests there, they had security clearance and they were instructed [about] what to say to foreigners.

This is exactly what I was doing. You can see me in the same damn Wedding Palace in Moscow, where Ed Kennedy was dancing here, you see, smiling. He thinks he is very smart. From the viewpoint of [the] Russian citizens, who observed this idiocy, he is [a] narrow-minded, egocentrical idiot, who tries to earn his own popularity through participation in propaganda farces like this.

Here you can see [me]. On the right: again, exemplary Soviet bride. On the left: three journalists from various countries [in] Asia, Africa and Latin America. Obviously they [are] enjoying the situation. They will go back home and write the reports: ‘we were present [at a] regular Soviet wedding.’ They were not present [at a] regular Soviet wedding. They were present; they were part of a farce, of a circus performance.

Another thing which I had to… sometimes risking my life to explain to foreigners: Time magazine, for example, is very critical of [the] South African racist regime. The whole article was dedicated to the shameful internal passport system, where blacks are not [being allowed] to leave [as whites are]. For some strange reason, for the last fourteen years since my defection, nobody wanted to pay attention to my passport.

This is my passport. It also shows my nationality, and it has a police rubber stamp which is called prapiska in [the] Russian language, which assigns me to a certain area of residence. I cannot leave that area. [It is the] same way as this black man cannot leave [his] area in South Africa. Yet we call [the] South African government [a] ‘racist regime.’ Not a single Jane Schmonda or Fonda is brave enough, courageous enough, to come to [the] media and say, ‘Look, this is what happens in [the] USSR.’ I sent a copy of my passport to many American liberals and civil rights defenders and all the other useful idiots. They never bothered to answer me back. This shows what kind of integrity, what kind of honesty these people [have]. They are [a] bunch of hypocrites, because they don’t want to recognize a good example of racism in my country.

This is the first stage of befriending a professor. You can see [me] on the left, with the same James Bond smile. On the right is my KGB supervisor, Comrade Leonid Mitrokhin*. And in the middle: a Professor of Political Science in Delhi University.

The next stage would be to invite him to a gathering of [the] Indo-Soviet Friendship Society.

There he is sitting next to his wife, before he is [going to be] sent to [the] USSR for [a] free trip. Everything is paid [for] by the Soviet government. He was made to believe that he is invited to [the] USSR because he is a talented, sober-thinking intellectual. Absolutely false: He is invited because he is a useful idiot, because he will agree and subscribe to most of the Soviet propaganda cliché[s], and when he [comes] back to his own country, he is going for years and years to teach the beauties of Soviet socialism, to newer and newer generations of his students, thus promoting the Soviet propaganda line.

The KGB was even curious about this gentleman (It may look innocent): Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, a great spiritual leader, or maybe a great charlatan and crook, depending on from which side you are looking at him. [The] Beatles were trained at his ashram in Haridwar in India [in] how to meditate; Mia Farrow and other useful idiots from Hollywood visited his school and they returned back to [the] United States absolutely zonked out of their minds with marijuana, hashish, and crazy ideas of meditation.

To meditate, in other words, to isolate oneself from the current social and political issues of your own country, to get into your own bubble, to forget about [the] troubles of the world—obviously [the] KGB was very fascinated with such a beautiful school, such a brainwashing center for stupid Americans. I was dispatched by the KGB to check [into] what kind of VIP Americans attend this school.

Griffin: That’s you on the left there?

Bezmenov: Yes, I’m on the left. I was trying to get enrolled in that school. Unfortunately Maharishi Mahesh Yogi asked too much; he wanted 500 American dollars for enrollment. But my function was not actually to get enrolled in this school. My function was to discover what kind of people from [the] United States attend this school. And we discovered that yes, there are some [members of influential families], public opinion-makers of [the] United States, who come back with the crazy stories about Indian philosophy.

Indians themselves look upon them as idiots, useful idiots, to say nothing about [the] KGB who looked upon them as extremely naïve, misguided people. Obviously, a VIP, say a wife of a Congressman, or a prominent Hollywood personality, after being trained in that school, is much more instrumental in the hands of manipulators of public opinion, and [the] KGB, than a normal person, who understands, who looks through this type of fake religious training.

Griffin: Why would they be more susceptible to manipulation?

Bezmenov: I just mentioned it. Because, you see, a person who is too much involved in introspective meditation, you see, if you carefully look [at] what Maharishi Mahesh Yogi is teaching to Americans, [it] is that most of the problems, most of the burning issues of today, can be solved simply by meditating. Don’t rock the boat, don’t get involved. Just sit down, look at your navel, and meditate. And the things, due to some strange logic, due to cosmic vibration, will settle down by themselves.

This is exactly what the KGB and Marxist-Leninist propaganda want from Americans. To distract their opinion, attention, and mental energy from [the] real issues of [the] United States, into [non-issues], into a non-world, non-existent harmony. Obviously it’s more beneficial for the Soviet aggressors to have a bunch of duped Americans than Americans who are self-conscious, healthy, physically fit, and alert to the reality.

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi obviously is not on the payroll of the KGB, but whether he knows it or not, he contributes greatly to [the] demoralization of American society. And he is not the only one. There are hundreds of those gurus who come to your country to capitalize on [the] naïveté and stupidity of Americans. It’s a fashion. It’s a fashion to meditate; it’s a fashion not to be involved.

So obviously you can see that if [the] KGB were that curious, if they paid [for] my trip to Haridwar, if they assigned me to that strange job, obviously they were very much fascinated. They were convinced that that type of brainwashing is very efficient and instrumental in [the] demoralization of [the] United States.

[Commercial Break]

Continued from Part One and Part Two.



Bezmenov: This picture shows [part] of the building of [the] USSR embassy, and my supervisors. On the left is Comrade Mehdi, an Indian Communist. And on the right, Comrade Mitrokhin. (My supervisors in the secret Department of Research and Counter-Propaganda.) It has nothing to do with either research or counter-propaganda. Most of the activity of the department was to compile [a] huge amount (volume) of information on individuals who were instrumental in creating public opinion: publishers, editors, journalists, actors, educationalists, professors of political science, members of parliament, [and] representatives of business circles. Most of these people were divided roughly [into] two groups. Those who would toe the Soviet foreign policy, they would be promoted to the positions of power through media and public opinion manipulation. Those who refused the Soviet influence in their own country would be character-assassinated or executed physically, con-revolution. 

[It’s the] same way as in the small town of Huế in South Vietnam, several thousands of Vietnamese were executed in one night when the city was captured by [the] Vietcong for only two days. And [the] American CIA could never figure out how [the Communists could possibly] know [of] each individual, where he lives, where to get him; and [how would they] be arrested in one night basically in some four hours before dawn, put in a van, taken out of the city limits and shot?

The answer is very simple: Long before [the] Communists occupied the city, there was [an] extensive network of informers, local Vietnamese citizens who knew absolutely everything about people who were instrumental in public opinion, including barbers and taxi drivers. Everyone who was sympathetic to [the] United States was executed.

[The] same thing was done under the guidance of the Soviet embassy in Hanoi, and [it was the] same thing I was doing in New Delhi. To my horror I discovered that in the files were people who were doomed to execution. There were names of pro-Soviet journalists with whom I was personally friendly.

Griffin: Pro-Soviet?

Bezmenov: Yes! They were idealistically-minded leftists who made several visits to [the] USSR. And yet, the KGB decided that ‘con-revolution,’ or drastic changes in [the] political structure of India, they will have to go.

Griffin: Why is that?

Bezmenov: Because [laughs] they know too much. Simply, because you see, the useful idiots, the leftists who are idealistically believing in the beauty of [the] Soviet socialist or Communist or whatever system, when they get disillusioned, they become the worst enemies. That’s why my KGB instructors specifically made the point: never bother with leftists. Forget about these political prostitutes. Aim higher.

This was my instruction: try to get into large-circulation, established conservative media; reach filthy-rich movie makers; intellectuals, so-called ‘academic’ circles; cynical, egocentric people who can look into your eyes with angelic expression and tell you a lie. These are the most recruitable people: people who lack moral principles, who are either too greedy or too [much] suffer from self importance. They feel that they matter a lot. These are the people who[m] [the] KGB wanted very much to recruit.

Griffin: But to eliminate the others, to execute the others? Don’t they serve some purpose; wouldn’t they be the ones you rely on?

Bezmenov: No. They serve [a] purpose only at the stage of destabilization of a nation. For example, your leftists in [the] United States: all these professors and all these beautiful civil rights defenders. They are instrumental in the process of the subversion only to destabilize a nation. When their job is completed, they are not needed any more. They know too much. Some of them, when they get disillusioned, when they see that Marxist-Leninists come to power—obviously they get offended—they think that they will come to power. That will never happen, of course. They will be lined up against the wall and shot.

But they may turn into the most bitter enemies of Marxist-Leninists when they come to power. And that’s what happened in Nicaragua. You remember most of these former Marxist-Leninists were either put [in] prison, or one of them split and now he is working against [the] Sandinistas. It happened in Grenada, when Maurice Bishop was—he was already a Marxist—he was executed by a new Marxist, who was more Marxist than this Marxist.

[The] same happened in Afghanistan, when first there was [Nur Mohammad] Taraki, he was killed by [Hafizullah] Amin, [and] then Amin was killed by Babrak Karmal with the help of [the] KGB. [The] same happened in Bangladesh when [Sheikh] Mujibur Rahman, [a] very pro-Soviet leftist, was assassinated by his own Marxist-Leninist military comrades. It’s the same pattern everywhere. The moment they serve their purpose, all these useful idiots [will] either be executed entirely (or the idealistically-minded Marxist) or exiled, or put in prisons like in Cuba. Many former Marxists are in Cuba—I mean in prison.

So most of the Indians who were cooperating with the Soviets, especially with our Department of Information of the USSR embassy, were listed for execution. And when I discovered that fact, of course I was sick: I was mentally and physically sick. I thought that I [was] going to explode one day during the briefing of the Ambassador’s office; I would stand up and say something [like,] ‘We are basically a bunch of murderers. That’s what we are. It has nothing to do with ‘friendship and understanding between the nation[s]’ and blah-blah-blah. We are murderers! We behave as [a] bunch of thugs in a country which is hospitable to us, a country with ancient traditions.’

But I did not defect. I tried to get the message across, [but] to my horror, nobody wanted even to listen, least of all to believe what I had to say. And I tried all kind[s] of tricks. I would leak information through letters or lost documents or something like that, and still I got no message. The message was not published even in the conservative mass media of India.

The immediate impulse to defect was [the] Bangladesh crisis, which was described by American correspondents as [an] ‘Islamic grassroot[s] revolution,’ which is absolute baloney. There was nothing to do with Islam, and there was no grassroot[s] revolution. Actually there are no grassroot[s] revolutions, period. Any revolution is a byproduct of a highly-organized group of conscientious and professional organizers, but has nothing to do with grassroot[s].

In Bangladesh, it was nothing [to do] with grassroots. Most of the Awami League party members—Awami League means ‘People’s Party’—were trained in Moscow in the high party school. Most of the Mukti Fauj leaders—Mukti Fauj in Bengali means ‘People’s Army.’ [It’s the] same as SWAPO and all kind[s] of ‘liberation’ armies all over the world, the same bunch of useful idiots. They were trained at Lumumba University and various centers of the KGB in Simferopol and in Crimea and in Tashkent.

So when I saw that India—Indian territory—[was] being used as a jumping board to destroy East Pakistan… I saw myself thousands of so-called ‘students’ traveling through India to East Pakistan through the territory of India, and [the] Indian government pretended not to see what was going on. They knew perfectly well, the Indian police knew it, the intelligence department of [the] Indian government knew it, the KGB of course knew it, and the CIA knew it. That was most infuriating because when I defected and I explained to the CIA debriefers [that] they should watch out, because East Pakistan is going to erupt any moment, they said I was reading too many James Bond novels.

Anyway, so East Pakistan was doomed. One of my colleagues in the Soviet consulate in Calcutta, when he was dead drunk, he ventured into the basement to relieve himself, and he found big boxes, which said ‘Printed Matter to Dhaka University.’ (Dhaka is the capitol of East Pakistan.) And since he was drunk and curious, he opened one of the boxes and he discovered not printed matter; he discovered Kalashnikov guns and ammunition in there. Anyway, it’s a long story.

When I saw the preparations for the invasion into East Pakistan, obviously I wanted to defect immediately. The only thing [was that] I couldn’t at that time make up my mind [about] when and where and how.

One of the reasons, of course… you see I was in love with India (I mentioned it before). I spoke the languages, I socialized with people, and I understood that I had to act fast unless I want[ed] this beautiful country to be permanently and irreparably damaged by our presence.

One of the reasons not to defect was (as you can see) [that] I was living in relative affluence.

Who the hell, in a normal [state of] mind, would defect... and do what?

To be abused by your media, to be called McCarthyist and fascist and paranoid, or to drive a taxi in New York City?

What for? What the hell for should I defect? To be abused by Americans, to be insulted in exchange for my effort to bring the truthful information about impending danger of subversion?

As you can see, I was living in quite the comfortable conditions, next to [a] swimming pool (where Indians were not allowed, by the way). I was [a] highly-paid expert in propaganda. I had my family. I was respected by my nation. My career was cloudless.

The third reason: how to defect with the family. To defect with a baby and a wife would be virtual suicide because according to [the] law, that hypocritical law which I quoted before, the Indian police will have to hand me over back to the KGB, and that will be the end of my defection and probably my life. Again, I cannot smuggle my wife, because she was not quite sure what I was doing. She was not that idealistically involved and she was definitely not in the total picture of what I was doing for the KGB. She would be shocked if I, you know, put her in my van and [drove] her to [the] American embassy or elsewhere. That would a [great] danger.

So, again, I had to defect in such a way that my defection would look [like a] simple disappearance. And there were many cases like that, when the Soviet agent simply disappeared, either killed in action; or thanks to their curiosity and their close contact with radicals, some of them were killed by the Marxists, by the way. It happened in many African countries when the Soviet KGB were killed by Africans themselves, not because they hated Marxist-Leninism but because they were simply [a] trigger-happy bunch of unruly characters. If you give them machine gun[s], they will shoot. And some of the Soviets obviously were not careful enough to protect themselves. And they got into embarrassing situations when they were shot [in] the crossfire between factions of so-called ‘liberation’ movements.

Anyway, so I decided, as I said, to study the counter-culture. I decided [that] this probably would be the best way to disappear. I socialized with characters like this on the left; you see he is a barefoot American hippy. It took me quite a long time to study exactly what they were doing and how to mix with them. But eventually I did it. Most of [the] Indian newspapers carried my picture and [a] promise of two thousand rupees for information about my whereabouts, but they were looking for [the] wrong person because they obviously tried to stop a young Soviet diplomat in white shirt and tie, and this is how I looked at the time of defection:

Nobody could possibly think that the Soviet diplomat would be as crazy as to join a bunch of hippies.

Griffin: That’s you?

Bezmenov: Yes. Travel India and smoke hash. So I made it, literally, almost like a Hollywood-style detective story. From under the nose of the KGB in Bombay Airport, I [boarded] a plane and I flew to Greece, where I was debriefed by the CIA. That’s basically most… that’s all for my slides.

Griffin: OK, we can turn off the projector... that’s very interesting. Well you spoke several times before about ideological subversion. That is a phrase that I’m afraid some Americans don’t fully understand. When the Soviets use the phrase ‘ideological subversion,’ what do they mean by it?

Bezmenov: Ideological subversion is the process, which is legitimate, overt, and open; you can see it with your own eyes. All you have to do, all American mass media has to do, is to unplug their bananas from their ears, open up their eyes, and they can see it. There is no mystery. [It has] nothing to do with espionage. I know that espionage intelligence-gathering looks more romantic. It sells more deodorants through the advertising, probably. That’s why your Hollywood producers are so crazy about James Bond-type of thrillers.

But in reality, the main emphasis of the KGB is not in the area of intelligence at all. According to my opinion and [the] opinion of many defectors of my caliber, only about 15% of time, money, and manpower [are] spent on espionage as such. The other 85% is a slow process, which we call either ‘ideological subversion,’ or ‘active measures’—‘[?]’ in the language of the KGB—or ‘psychological warfare.’ What it basically means is, to change the perception of reality, of every American, to such an extent that despite of the abundance of information, no one is able to come to sensible conclusions in the interests of defending themselves, their families, their community and their country.

It’s a great brainwashing process, which goes very slow[ly] and is divided [into] four basic stages. The first one [is] demoralization; it takes from 15-20 years to demoralize a nation. Why that many years? Because this is the minimum number of years which [is required] to educate one generation of students in the country of your enemy, exposed to the ideology of the enemy. In other words, Marxist-Leninist ideology is being pumped into the soft heads of at least three generations of American students, without being challenged, or counter-balanced by the basic values of Americanism (American patriotism).

The result? The result you can see. Most of the people who graduated in the sixties (drop-outs or half-baked intellectuals) are now occupying the positions of power in the government, civil service, business, mass media, [and the] educational system. You are stuck with them. You cannot get rid of them. They are contaminated; they are programmed to think and react to certain stimuli in a certain pattern. You cannot change their mind[s], even if you expose them to authentic information, even if you prove that white is white and black is black, you still cannot change the basic perception and the logic of behavior. In other words, these people... the process of demoralization is complete and irreversible. To [rid] society of these people, you need another twenty or fifteen years to educate a new generation of patriotically-minded and common sense people, who would be acting in favor and in the interests of United States society.

Griffin: And yet these people who have been ‘programmed,’ and as you say [are] in place and who are favorable to an opening with the Soviet concept... these are the very people who would be marked for extermination in this country?

Bezmenov: Most of them, yes. Simply because the psychological shock when they will see in [the] future what the beautiful society of ‘equality’ and ‘social justice’ means in practice, obviously they will revolt. They will be very unhappy, frustrated people, and the Marxist-Leninist regime does not tolerate these people. Obviously they will join the leagues of dissenters (dissidents).

Unlike in [the] present United States there will be no place for dissent in future Marxist-Leninist America. Here you can get popular like Daniel Ellsberg and filthy-rich like Jane Fonda for being ‘dissident,’ for criticizing your Pentagon. In [the] future these people will be simply [squashing sound] squashed like cockroaches. Nobody is going to pay them nothing for their beautiful, noble ideas of equality. This they don't understand and it will be [the] greatest shock for them, of course.

The demoralization process in [the] United States is basically completed already. For the last 25 years... actually, it's over-fulfilled because demoralization now reaches such areas where previously not even Comrade Andropov and all his experts would even dream of such a tremendous success. Most of it is done by Americans to Americans, thanks to [a] lack of moral standards.

As I mentioned before, exposure to true information does not matter anymore. A person who was demoralized is unable to assess true information. The facts tell nothing to him. Even if I shower him with information, with authentic proof, with documents, with pictures; even if I take him by force to the Soviet Union and show him [a] concentration camp, he will refuse to believe it, until he [receives] a kick in his fan-bottom. When a military boot crashes his... then he will understand. But not before that. That's the [tragedy] of the situation of demoralization.

So basically America is stuck with demoralization and unless... even if you start right now, here, this minute, you start educating [a] new generation of American[s], it will still take you fifteen to twenty years to turn the tide of ideological perception of reality back to normalcy and patriotism.

The next stage is destabilization. This time [the] subverter does not care about your ideas and the patterns of your consumption; whether you eat junk food and get fat and flabby doesn’t matter any more. This time—and it takes only from two to five years to destabilize a nation—what matters [are] essentials: economy, foreign relations, [and] defense systems. And you can see it quite clearly that in some areas, in such sensitive areas as defense and [the] economy, the influence of Marxist-Leninist ideas in [the] United States is absolutely fantastic. I could never believe it fourteen years ago when I landed in this part of the world that the process [would have gone] that fast.

The next stage, of course, is crisis. It may take only up to six weeks to bring a country to the verge of crisis. You can see it in Central America now.

And, after crisis, with a violent change of power, structure, and economy, you have [the so-called] period of normalization. It may last indefinitely. Normalization is a cynical expression borrowed from Soviet propaganda. When the Soviet tanks moved into Czechoslovakia in ‘68, Comrade Brezhnev said, ‘Now the situation in brotherly Czechoslovakia is normalized.’

This is what will happen in [the] United States if you allow all these schmucks to bring the country to crisis, to promise people all kind[s] of goodies and the paradise on earth, to destabilize your economy, to eliminate the principle of free market competition, and to put [a] Big Brother government in Washington, D.C. with benevolent dictators like Walter Mondale, who will promise lots of thing[s], never mind whether the promises are fulfillable or not. He will go to Moscow to kiss the bottoms of [a] new generation of Soviet assassins, never mind... he will create false illusions that the situation is under control. [The] situation is not under control. [The] situation is disgustingly out of control.

Most of the American politicians, media, and educational system trains another generation of people who think they are living at the peacetime. False. [The] United States is in a state of war: undeclared, total war against the basic principles and foundations of this system. And the initiator of this war is not Comrade Andropov, of course. It's the system. However ridiculous it may sound, [it is] the world Communist system (or the world Communist conspiracy). Whether I scare some people or not, I don't give a hoot. If you are not scared by now, nothing can scare you.

But you don’t have to be paranoid about it. What actually happens now [is] that unlike [me], you have literally several years to live on unless [the] United States [wakes] up. The time bomb is ticking: with every second [he snaps his fingers], the disaster is coming closer and closer. Unlike [me], you will have nowhere to defect to. Unless you want to live in Antarctica with penguins. This is it. This is the last country of freedom and possibility.

Griffin: Okay, so what do we do? What is your recommendation to the American people?

Bezmenov: Well, the immediate thing that comes to my mind is of course, there must be a very strong national effort to educate people in the spirit of real patriotism, number one. Number two, to explain [to] them the real danger of socialist, communist, whatever, welfare state, Big Brother government. If people will fail to grasp the impending danger of that development, nothing ever can help [the] United States. You may kiss good bye to your freedom, including freedoms [for] homosexuals, [for] prison inmate[s]; all this freedom will vanish, evaporate in five seconds... including your precious lives.

The second thing: [at] the moment at least part of [the] United States population is convinced that the danger is real. They have to force their government, and I'm not talking about sending letters, signing petitions, and all this beautiful, noble activity. I'm talking about forcing [the] United States government to stop aiding Communism. Because there is no other problem more burning and urgent than to stop the Soviet military-industrial complex from destroying whatever is left of the free world. And it is very easy to do: no credits, no technology, no money, no political or diplomatic recognition, and of course no such idiocy as grain deals to [the] USSR.

The Soviet people, 270 [million] Soviets, will be eternally thankful to you if you stop aiding [the] bunch of murderers who sit now in [the] Kremlin, and whom President Reagan respectfully calls ‘government.’ They do not govern anything, least of all such [a] complexity as the Soviet economy.

So basic[ally], two very simple... maybe two simplistic answers or solutions, but nevertheless they are the only solutions: educate yourself, [and] understand what’s going on around you. You are not living at [a] time of peace. You are in a state of war and you have precious little time to save yourself. You don’t have much time, especially if you are talking about [the] young generation. There’s not much time left for convulsions to the beautiful disco music. Very soon it will go [he snaps his fingers] just overnight.

If we are talking about capitalists or wealthy businessmen, I think they are selling the rope from which they will hang very soon. If they don’t stop, if they cannot curb their unsettled desire for profit, and if they keep on trading with the monster of the Soviet Communism, they are going to hang very soon. And they will pray to be killed, but unfortunately they will be sent to Alaska, probably, to manage [the] industry of slaves.

It’s simplistic. I know it sounds unpleasant; I know Americans don’t like to listen to things which are unpleasant, but I have defected not to tell you the stories about such idiocy as microfilm, James Bond-type espionage. This is garbage. You don’t need any espionage anymore. I have come to talk about survival. It’s a question of [the] survival of this system. You may ask me what is [in it] for me. Survival, obviously. Because I like... as I said, I am now in your boat. If we sink together, we will sink beautifully together. There is no other place on this planet to defect to.

Friday 4 December 2015

The Rise and Fall of Richard Helms : Survival and sudden death in the CIA BY THOMAS POWERS | December 16, 1976




Richard McGarrah Helms believed in secrets. Of course, everyone in the American intelligence community believes in secrets in theory, but Helms really believed in secrets the way Lyman Kirkpatrick believed in secrets. At one point years ago they were rivals in the Central Intelligence Agency. But they had certain things in common and one of them was a belief in secrets. They did not like covert action operations—subsidizing politicians in Brazil, parachuting into Burma, preparing poisoned handkerchiefs for inconvenient Arab colonels, all that sleight of hand and derring-do of World War II vintage which certain veterans of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) brought into the CIA—because covert action operations had a built-in uncertainty factor. They tended to go wrong, and even when they succeeded they tended to get out. Too many people knew about them. You couldn't keep them secret; not just confidential for the life of the administration, like so many secrets in Washington, but secret, in Lyman Kirkpatrick's phrase, "from inception to eternity."

As Director of Central Intelligence (DCI) from June 1966 until February 1973, Helms was as close to anonymous as a senior government official can be. In political memoirs of the period Helms is often in the index, but when you check the text he is only a walk-on, one of those names in sentences which begin, "Also at the meeting were. . . ." If it were not for a little . . . bad luck . . . Helms would be as faintly remembered now as Rear Admiral Roscoe Hillenkoetter or General Hoyt Vandenberg, two early DCIs.

No one tells stories about Richard Helms. He had allies within the CIA, of course, and friends, and there are men who still admire his professional skill in running a traditional intelligence service, and there are even more who learned to respect his bureaucratic talents. He lost some battles within the CIA but he won all the wars and no one who worked with him ever doubted for long that Helms was a formidable opponent when it came to office politics. But Helms did not win people, as Allen Dulles, Frank Wisner, Bissell, Tracey Barnes and Thomas Karamessines all did. His fires were banked; he kept his own counsel and his distance, and even the men who knew him best find themselves hard pressed when they are asked what Richard Helms was like.

The only genuine anecdote I heard about Helms came from a man who did not like him, and he had to think a long time before he could come up with it. Before the Director's daily meeting, the man said, Helms would read an intelligence brief describing what had come in overnight. The names of all agents, intelligence officers, operations and the like were replaced by code words, of course, but for the Director's convenience there were little tags attached at the edge of the page providing the true identities. One day there was an item from the Chief of Station (COS) in Frankfurt and the tag beside the code name for the COS said, "Ray Kline."

Helms allowed himself to smile broadly at this, according to the man who told me the story, because the officer in charge of the brief had misspelled the name of a man who had once been something of a Helms rival, an important CIA official, Ray Cline, with a C. Helms paused, and said, "Poor Ray. How soon they forget, how soon they forget."

A man has been stepping very lightly indeed, who does not leave deeper tracks than that.

Helms personal background was atypical of the CIA in two ways. He went to school in Europe (Le Rosey in Switzerland, a posh social institution where Mohammed Riza Pahlavi, later shah of Iran, also went) and he had no money of his own. The practical importance of this fact was that Helms, unlike many early CIA people, needed his job. He could not afford to resign if he got mad and he knew it. In all other respects—race, politics and social background—Helms was typical of the Eastern, old family, old money, WASP patricians who ran the great financial institutions, the Wall Street law firms, the Foreign Service and the CIA.

At Williams College, where he was graduated in 1935, Helms was one of those young men, assured beyond their years, who are voted most popular and most likely to succeed. He was Phi Beta Kappa, which meant he knew how to write papers and take exams with effect, but he had none of the intellectual fire and passion which make teachers value students. Helms' roommate was the son of Hugh Baillie, president of United Press at the time, and after leaving Williams, Helms paid his own way to Europe and went to work for UP in Berlin under Fred Oechsner, a UP journalist who later joined the State Department.

In 1937, after a couple of routine years with UP, Helms left Europe and joined the business staff of the Indianapolis Times. In 1942 he moved to Washington with the U.S. Naval Reserve where he spent some time in a routine office job. By this time Fred Oechsner had joined the OSS and he tried to recruit Helms. Helms said no, he thought not, which did not surprise Oechsner. The Navy, after all, was an established service with plenty of opportunities for an ambitious young man, while the OSS was new and unknown. Later Helms was approached by someone more persuasive—Oechsner thinks it may have been by Dulles himself—and this time Helms said yes.

For the next 30 years, all but four of them in Washington, Helms worked for the OSS and the intelligence services which succeeded it, and he remained a mostly anonymous figure.

If it had not been for Watergate, which opened up the American government like an archaeologist's trench, Helms would have retired and remained unknown by the general public. Even now he remains an elusive figure, despite dozens of congressional hearings. He does not give interviews, his friends are cautious in discussing him, his enemies found him hard to fathom even when they worked down the hall, and nobody connected with an intelligence agency really believes in letting facts speak for themselves.

This is not to say that Richard Helms was a retiring public servant, one of those gray men who washes his own socks. Far from it. He was personable and good-looking in a dark, brilliantined sort of way, and he got about a good deal socially. He even dated Barbara Howar, and he was never at a loss for a luncheon partner. But lunch was part of the job. The CIA lives on a kind of sufferance and it was Helms' job to see that the Agency's fragile charter survived intact. So he often lunched with the kind of men—senators, senior government officials, important journalists—whose good will, whose trust, in fact, gave the Agency the freedom from scrutiny it needed to do its job.

One of the men Helms used to see regularly in this way was C.L. Sulzberger, the diplomatic correspondent for the New York Times. They would lunch at Helms' regular table at the Occidental and talk about Soviet strategic capabilities, Greece and Cyprus (in which Sulzberger took a special interest), why the North Vietnamese failed to stage an offensive during Nixon's trip to Peking, things like that.

"You know," Helms told Sulzberger once, "I tell you almost anything."

Helms' reputation in official Washington—as opposed to his broader public reputation, which is more recent, more sinister and less precise—is that of an able, honest man, with the emphasis on honesty. The journalists who talked to him and the congressmen he briefed over the years trusted Helms implicitly. Even at the height of the war in Vietnam, when Lyndon Johnson was calling for "progress" reports as a patriotic duty, Helms would go into an executive session with Senator Fulbright's committee and tell them the bad news. Like Sulzberger, the senators convinced themselves that Helms told them just about anything. They did not grasp the extent to which he answered questions narrowly, or phrased himself exactly, or volunteered nothing.

But not even that covers it. There are some secrets you just flat-out lie to protect, and Helms knew a lot of them. Until he became DCI, Helms' entire career had been in the Deputy Directorate for Plans. He had lived through every bureaucratic battle in Washington and he knew the details of every operation abroad, not just the routine agent-running but Cold War exotica involving Ukrainian emigres penetrating the "denied areas" of Russia, Polish undergrounds, counterguerrilla operations in Latin America, the acquisition of the Gehlen organization from Nazi Germany at the end of the war. The world looked quite different in the early years of the Cold War, and things that seem demented or criminal now sometimes looked plausible then.

Helms knew every crazy, crack-brained scheme dreamed up over drinks late at night—or meticulously, in committee, where men were sometimes crazier still—and he knew what would happen if those things ever got out. It was bad enough having Jean-Paul Sartre and half of black Africa think the CIA had killed Lumumba. What would happen if the New York Times found out about secret drug testing, links to the Mafia, poison-pen devices ...? Helms knew secrets which could wreck the whole CIA and leave the United States with a crippled intelligence agency, or no intelligence agency at all.

There is only one man with a right to ask questions about such things: the president. If the president were to ask, clearly and unmistakably, Dick, what about this story the CIA tried to kill Castro with the help of the Mafia? Is this true?

Helms would have to answer a question like that. But God forbid the president should ever ask. Once you began to look into such matters there was no telling what you would find, or what would follow, or where it would end.

There is no way to rise to the top of a bureaucratic structure like the Central Intelligence Agency without a combination of ability and luck. Helms' abilities were narrow and conventional; he was a man of lean gifts. He was a first-rate administrator, for example, quite unlike Dulles, who would call for a briefing from one of his top men and then keep him waiting outside his office for an hour while he chatted on his intercom with Robert Amory, the deputy director for intelligence. Helms was also a great manager of men. He always dealt with people with what one colleague called a "perceptive courtesy," and it is easy to collect stories of Helms' consideration and regard where personal relations were concerned.

Helms also knew a great deal about running agents, the most delicate work in the field of intelligence and, before the introduction of the U-2 and reconnaissance satellites, potentially the most valuable. But even this talent probably did not have so much to do with Helms' rise in the CIA as plain luck.

Some of his luck was of the traditional sort—being in the right job at the right time—but occasionally Helms' luck required something close to an act of God. His rise to the top of the Deputy Directorate for Plans (DDP), for example, required the departure of three men his own age and at least his equal in ability, who could have been expected to remain right where they were.

The first to go was Lyman Kirkpatrick, something of a protege of an early DCI named Walter Bedell Smith. In the summer of 1952 Kirkpatrick, an ambitious man who was then Helms' immediate superior, came down with infantile paralysis during a trip to the Far East. Eventually he returned to the Agency in a wheelchair, but by that time he was no longer blocking Helms' path.

The second was Frank Wisner, a charming and intelligent Southerner of independent means who was the first head of the Deputy Directorate for Plans. In the fall of 1956, probably sparked by the Hungarian uprising which he witnessed from Vienna, Wisner suffered a nervous breakdown. Helms was appointed the acting DDP while Wisner was on leave, and then reappointed after Wisner suffered a relapse and permanently left the DDP in late 1958.

Helms was not alone in thinking Dulles would appoint him the next DDP after Wisner's departure.

He had been Wisner's deputy since 1952, he was widely considered a protege of Dulles', and he had a group of CIA friends—one former colleague described Helms as a cardinal surrounded by his bishops—who were backing him for the job.

Dulles appointed Richard Bissell.

Helms was so disappointed that for a while in late '58 he even thought about leaving the Agency, or perhaps taking a post abroad. The foreign assignments were the most interesting in the CIA but they were off the upward path, away from the centers of bureaucratic power where careers are made and unmade. Helms' career seemed to have been unmade in late 1958 and if it had not been for some personal troubles (according to one of his colleagues at the time) he probably would have left the country. Instead, he accepted a job as Bissell's deputy.

The true explanation of Bissell's promotion was probably not so much Helms' failings as the fact that Dulles had great respect for Bissell's brilliance, and that he liked him. Dulles was a talker and storyteller, a man who liked knowing people, and who appreciated flair, energy, wit and imagination. Bissell had worked on the Marshall Plan before joining the CIA at Dulles' request in 1954, he was well-known on the Hill, he had a wide social acquaintance, and he was a man of ideas.

The first major assignment Dulles gave Bissell when he joined the CIA was to find some way of penetrating the so-called "denied areas" of Eastern Europe and Russia, something Helms and the clandestine foreign intelligence side of the DDP had largely failed to do. Bissell had come up with the U-2, which provided huge quantities of intelligence, and later he developed the satellite reconnaissance program, which produced even more. This was without question the CIA's greatest single achievement, an intelligence gain which has been directly responsible for the arms-limitation agreement reached with the Soviet Union by Nixon and Kissinger in May 1972. The Russians have always refused on-site inspections, and without satellite reconnaissance such arms agreements would have been impossible, because the sine qua non of trust—exact knowledge that an opponent is in fact keeping his promises—would have been lacking. After an achievement of that magnitude it is only natural that Dulles would have given Bissell the best job available, which turned out to be the one Helms thought he deserved. The result, equally naturally, was that Helms and Bissell did not get along.

One reason for their cool relationship—Bissell cannot remember ever having had a general conversation with Helms—was that Bissell was openly skeptical of the value of traditional intelligence agents. Even with Oleg Penkovskiy, who delivered more than 10,000 pages of documents to Britain's MI-6 and CIA between April 1961 and August 1962, Bissell was doubtful. "How do you know this guy is on the level?" he would ask John Maury, head of the DDP's Soviet division at the time. Maury pointed out that no intelligence agency in its right mind would hand over material of that quality solely in order to prove the bona fides of an agent. Later Penkovskiy's information would be of critical importance during the Cuban missile crisis when it showed, among other things, that the missiles in Cuba could hit every major city in the United States except Seattle. But Bissell was skeptical anyway and Helms resented it.

These and other differences created a little cold war within the DDP. "Take it up with Wonder Boy next door," Helms would sometimes say in answer to a request. His allies started what amounted to a whispering campaign against Bissell's professionalism where spies were concerned (he thought a lot of them were a plain waste of time and money) and his administrative ability, which was as erratic as Dulles'. He got results, as the U-2 showed, but his methods caused a lot of confusion along the way. The little war simmered just beneath the DDP's surface (Helms' secretary used to say, "Well, we all know Dick really should have been DDP") until the Bay of Pigs. At that time their differences—expressed bureaucratically, as always—reached a point of such heat that Helms came within a hairsbreadth of being banished from Washington.

The basis of their disagreement was the old one—the distrust of the Foreign Intelligence specialist for covert paramilitary operations that balloon to such a size that the hand behind them can no longer be hidden. The Bay of Pigs was the biggest operation of all, expanding from a proposal for a limited landing of guerrillas to a full-blown invasion force with ships, an air force and well over a thousand fighting men.

Helms knew how to disguise and mute his role, which makes it difficult to reconstruct just exactly what he did to anger Bissell. As assistant DDP he had control of the money, the people and the directives going out to the field, all of which gave him a vantage from which to subtly impede, frustrate and harass the Bay of Pigs planning. One former colleague and rival "imagines" (CIA people often tell you things elliptically) that Helms must have tried to protect his own assets, refused to assign his best people to the project, advised those involved not to back it too strongly. Others say he discussed it quietly with the DDP's division chiefs, encouraged a consensus of doubt and opposition, argued (but not insistently) with Dulles that experienced operators doubted the CIA's role could be hidden and so on. He would not have said, "This is foolish and wrong," but he might have said it was unworkable, impractical, unwieldy, a threat to CIA assets built up over the years, and more properly the work of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

It was arguments of this sort, at any rate, which Helms took to Roger Hilsman at the State Department. Early in 1961 he told Hilsman he did not know exactly what was going on, that he disagreed with what he knew, that Bissell was running off on his own without a word of advice from the Office of National Estimates (ONE) or Robert Amory, the Deputy Director of Intelligence (DDI). He told Hilsman he had argued with Bissell and Dulles without effect, and Hilsman, alarmed, "put in my two cents' worth with Rusk," also without effect.

Bissell, characteristically, says that to the extent he knew of Helms' opposition at the time he "probably" resented it. Others say he was angered by Helms' disloyalty in even raising the issue with CIA people like James Angleton, not to mention outsiders like Hilsman.

Whatever the exact cause of Bissell's anger, he went to Dulles early in 1961 and said he could no longer work with Helms. Dulles disliked personal conflicts of this sort but finally steeled himself and gave Helms a bleak ultimatum—London Chief of Station or resignation.

Bissell says he does not remember this version of events, which is based on an explicit account by a CIA official who was in a position to know what happened, and that he thinks the story is "probably apocryphal," although he "believes" his deputy did make some such request of Dulles, and that Dulles "probably" felt Helms would be better off in London.

As things turned out, Helms was not required to make the painful choice Dulles had offered him. On April 15th, 1961, the Bay of Pigs invasion was launched, and three days later it ended with the surrender of the entire surviving invasion force. It was not Helms who left Washington or the CIA, but Dulles (in November 1961) and Bissell (the following February). The new director, a conservative Republican businessman named John McCone, appointed Helms DDP.

Helms had reached the CIA's top level, and had even been mentioned for the first time outside the Agency as a potential Director, Hilsman having suggested to Rusk that Helms be appointed to replace Dulles. The suggestion didn't get anywhere—Kennedy had political problems on his right, and McCone's appointment served as a buffer—but Helms, all the same, was on the upward path. He was in charge of the CIA's most important branch, in a position of real authority for the first time, but he also was, as he learned, in charge of the secrets, and when Dulles and Bissell left the CIA, they left plenty.

The biggest secret, known to only a handful of CIA officials, was assassination. If it were not for a little-noticed Drew Pearson column on March 7th, 1967, the assassination plots might never have been revealed at all. But on that day, or soon after, President Johnson saw the story and two weeks later, in a White House meeting on the evening of March 22nd, Johnson personally asked Richard Helms about it. By that time Johnson had a preliminary FBI report on the matter and he apparently put his questions to Helms with a directness which could not be evaded.

Johnson told Helms he wanted a full report, not only about Castro but about Trujillo and Diem as well. On March 23rd Helms—however reluctantly, after years of resisting just such inquiries—asked CIA Inspector General Gordon Stewart to conduct an investigation.

Helms did not like covert action operations and assassination is the most dangerous of them all. Skeptics may say this was only a deceptive mask, when you consider all the operations with which he was involved, but the available evidence supports his reputation among CIA people as a foreign intelligence man first, last and always. He was skeptical of the underground stay-behind nets organized for Eastern Europe in the late 1940s and early 1950s; he was happy to turn over the Meo army in Laos and the pacification program in Vietnam to the Pentagon in the late 1960s, and throughout his career he was known as a man who would quietly discourage just about every covert action proposal brought up in his presence.

In a typical instance in the summer of 1964 Helms defused proposals for some sort of dramatic operation to rescue five American officials held by Simba rebels in Stanleyville, a provincial capital of the former Belgian Congo. Fear for the officials was intense since the Simbas were less a revolutionary army than an atavistic mob of bush warriors; after capturing Stanleyville and the foreigners stranded there in August 1964, for example, they killed a group of Italians, butchered them, and hung them up for sale in local shops.

At that time a meeting was held in the office of the DCI, John McCone, to consider a rescue operation. All sorts of ideas were batted around, according to one of those at the meeting—bombing raids, parachute drops, a helicopter assault, sending a paramilitary team in through the jungle. Ray Cline, the Deputy Director for Intelligence, wanted some sort of strong, dramatic action: these were the lowest sort of bush rebels, disorganized, badly led, a rabble. The thing to do was go in like gangbusters.

Helms did not say much, but when he did he quietly attacked every proposal on practical grounds. No one knew where the American officials were being held. They were in Stanleyville, but where? How would a team of rescuers find them? The officials would be in immediate danger as soon as the shooting started; the rescue team would be running about erratically. In the end McCone, who had initially favored some sort of immediate rescue operation, was brought around by Helms' arguments. Plans for a quick operation were dropped and the officials remained prisoner until a combined parachute assault and ground attack recaptured the city in November.

If Helms was doubtful about the utility of most paramilitary and covert action programs, he was doubly skeptical of assassinations, which were hard to organize, harder to keep secret, and all but impossible to justify or explain away once revealed. But this does not mean that he opposed them in principle or refused to contribute to carrying them out. Either would have been out of character. Helms is often described by CIA people as a "good soldier," by which they mean someone who will argue with a policy until it is adopted, but not afterward. Assassination plans did not originate with Helms, and he did not encourage or push or support them with energy, but there is no record that he ever opposed one either, and he had been Director of Central Intelligence for five years before he issued an explicit order that assassination was forbidden. Helms' private policy on assassinations was purely pragmatic, but for a while more effective: he tried only to keep them secret.

There are only three known plots by the CIA to deliberately kill specific foreign leaders—an Iraqi colonel, Patrice Lumumba and Fidel Castro. The first plot did not get very far. The plot against Lumumba was extensive and energetic but superseded by events when Lumumba was abducted by his Congolese enemies and murdered by them, probably on January 17th, 1961, according to a United Nations investigation conducted at the time. The plot, or plots, against Castro were first proposed in late 1959 and were actively pursued from 1960 until 1965 when Lyndon Johnson, preoccupied with the Dominican Republic and Vietnam, called off all covert action operations against Cuba.

The ultimate responsibility for the assassination plots is uncertain. It is hard to imagine that Dulles, DCI during the initiation of all of them, would have acted without at least indirect authority from the president. But Dulles, and the presidents he served, are dead, next to nothing about assassination is mentioned in the minutes of official meetings, and the aides of Eisenhower and Kennedy still swear their men would never stoop to murder.

Richard Bissell told the Senate Select Committee that he assumed Dulles was acting with presidential authority, and that he, Bissell, was certainly acting with Dulles' authority. While Bissell was DDP Helms remained in the background. A CIA intelligence officer asked by Bissell to take over the faltering Lumumba plot in October 1960 protested vigorously and went to several CIA officials, including Lyman Kirkpatrick, the Inspector General, and Helms. Kirkpatrick went to Dulles and protested that the plan was absolutely crazy. Dulles thanked him for his opinion. Helms simply listened to the intelligence officer's protest, told him he was "absolutely right," and did nothing else whatever. He did not protest to Bissell, Dulles or Kirkpatrick, and when he was asked about it by the Senate Select Committee 15 years later he conceded it was "likely" he had discussed the Lumumba plot with the intelligence officer asked to carry it out, that the officer's version of their conversation was probably correct, but that he did not remember anything else about the plan or what happened to it.

The plots to kill Castro were far more extensive, beginning with a plan in 1960 to retain two Mafia figures, John Rosselli and Sam Giancana, both of whom were later murdered after the assassination story finally got out. Their interests in Cuban resorts and gambling casinos gave them a private motive for killing Castro, not to mention the $150,000 offered them by the CIA. Helms apparently had nothing to do with the early stages of the plots, but after the departure of Dulles and Bissell he inherited Operation Mongoose, an anti-Castro effort which had the strong support of the Kennedy brothers.

Later plots sometimes bordered on the bizarre and included one plan to give Castro a poisoned wet-suit for skin diving, and another to place a gorgeous but booby-trapped seashell on the ocean floor where Castro liked to go diving. When the CIA's operational officer in charge of the Castro plots came to Helms he routinely approved their plans for contacts with the Mafia or the provision of poisonpen devices and sniper rifles to a dissident member of Castro's government—whatever, in fact, those in charge of the plots thought they needed—but he does not appear to have believed the plots were going anywhere, and he deliberately avoided telling John McCone, the new DCI, anything about them.

Despite this initial evasion when Helms became DDP he only narrowly managed to keep the facts from McCone three months later, in May 1962, during a complicated wiretap case involving the FBI, the CIA's liaison with the Mafia, Robert Maheu, and the attorney general. After an initial briefing, Robert Kennedy requested a written memorandum on the CIA's involvement in the matter and one was submitted on May 14th, 1962. The memorandum, with Helms' approval, admitted an early CIA-Mafia plot to kill Castro but deliberately left out the fact that the assassination attempts were still going on—Rosselli, in fact, had been given poison pills only a few weeks earlier—and implied that the operation had been terminated "approximately" in May 1961. Despite the involvement of many high CIA officials, Helms again managed to avoid telling McCone anything about it.

Helms dealt with Bobby Kennedy and McCone in the same way. He would tell them nothing about assassination plots if that were possible, and he would minimize them if he had to say something. The last thing he would admit was the fact they were continuing, because that would incriminate him.

Bissell, among others, said that Helms' characteristic way of dealing with an inherited operation he didn't like was to cut off its funds, ask skeptical questions, delay its paper work—in effect, to starve it to death quietly. To kill it quickly would only make enemies of its supporters. Helms seems to have treated the ongoing assassination plots in precisely this way, letting them die of their own inertia, and perhaps thinking that if one somehow worked—if some Havana busboy really did manage to slip botulin into Castro's beans—well, who would object? Whatever the truth, there is no question Helms did everything he could to keep it to himself.

A second close call occurred the following year, in June 1963, when the CIA officer in charge of the Mafia connection was transferred to another job. Before he left, the officer, William Harvey, had a farewell dinner in Miami with Rosselli. The FBI somehow "observed" their meeting and through Sam Papich, the Bureau's liaison with the CIA, Harvey was warned that Hoover would be told. Harvey asked Papich to tell him if Hoover planned to inform McCone, and then went to Helms. As they had on two earlier occasions, according to Harvey's testimony, he and Helms agreed not to tell McCone anything about the matter unless it became apparent McCone would learn of it directly from Hoover.

Two months later Helms ran out of luck. On August 16th, 1963, a Chicago Sun Times article stated that "Justice Department sources" reported a claim of CIA involvement by Sam Giancana, although the sources suggested that Giancana had not, in fact, done anything for the CIA. As soon as McCone read the article he asked Helms for an immediate report. Later the same day Helms handed him a laconic memorandum, saying the attached document—of which Helms had been "vaguely aware"—was the only "written" information in the Agency on the Giancana matter.

Helms told McCone orally—nothing on paper!—that the matter referred to in the document was assassination, and McCone gathered as much on his own when he read in the document that Giancana was to have been paid $150,000 for carrying out the operation.

"Well," said McCone, according to an aide present at the meeting, "this did not happen during my tenure."

That was McCone's first knowledge of the Castro assassination plots. He did not know about those still going on—a poison-pen device was to be given to a Cuban agent in Paris later that year, on November 22nd, 1963, to be exact—and he did not learn about them or about other CIA assassination plots until the Senate Select Committee's investigation 12 years later. The document Helms had given to McCone was a copy—the only copy in the Agency—of the memorandum given to Bobby Kennedy more than a year earlier, a memorandum which Helms knew to have been deliberately incomplete and misleading.

There are many other examples of Helms' continuing and determined effort to conceal or minimize the CIA's attempts to carry out assassinations. In 1966 Dean Rusk somehow learned of one of them, but Helms denied it flatly in a memo which he later admitted was "inaccurate." In 1964 Helms avoided all mention of anti-Castro plots in front of the Warren Commission (as did Allen Dulles, a member of the commission, and J. Edgar Hoover, who had by this time a fairly complete knowledge of the Giancana-Rosselli plot).

But on March 22nd, 1967, Helms was asked a question by President Johnson which he could not evade. He ordered the CIA's Inspector General to make a full investigation and over the following nine weeks the IG did so. When he first began to receive sections of the IG report on April 24th, 1967, Helms' reaction must have been one of queasy horror. Everything was there, every plan to shoot Castro or poison him or blow him up; the CIA's provision of arms to the men who eventually assassinated Trujillo in the Dominican Republic in 1961; the CIA's intimate foreknowledge and encouragement of the coup which resulted in Diem's assassination in 1963; the continuing Castro plots and Helms' efforts to hide them from John McCone; the fact that the CIA had gone on trying to kill Castro after Johnson became president, and did not finally give up the attempt once and for all—so far as we know—until 1965.

Helms read the report as it came in and then, on the day it was completed, May 23rd, 1967, he ordered Gordon Stewart to destroy every piece of paper connected with the investigation, every last interview and internal memo and working draft. Stewart did as he was ordered. By that time—it is not known exactly when, but it was between April 24th and May 23rd—Helms had already gone to see Johnson to tell him the secrets which he, Helms, had been trying to suppress since the beginning of the decade.

Johnson was apparently shocked by what he learned. He later told a journalist that "we had been operating a damned Murder Inc. in the Caribbean." He even concluded that Castro must have arranged Kennedy's murder in retaliation for the CIA's plots to kill him. "I'll tell you something that will rock you," Johnson said to Howard K. Smith, the television newsman, before leaving the White House 18 months after Helms' briefing. "Kennedy was trying to get Castro, but Castro got to him first."

The IG's report makes no such bald claim, but then again Johnson did not see the report. Helms gave Johnson an oral briefing instead, leaving out a great many details—it is not hard to guess which ones —and halting his account in 1963—the year Johnson took over. Even in extremis as he was, responding to a direct presidential request, Helms managed to keep some of the secrets.

The president is the sun in the CIA's universe. The cabinet secretaries all have constituencies of their own with interests which sometimes conflict with the president's, but the Central Intelligence Agency and its Director serve the president alone. If he does not trust or value the CIA's product, then the paper it produces ceases to have meaning or weight in government councils and the Agency might as well unplug its copiers, since it is talking only to itself. The first duty of the DCI, then, not by statute but as a matter of practical reality, is to win the trust, the confidence and the ear of the president. Allen Dulles had Eisenhower's but lost Kennedy's. John McCone had Kennedy's but lost Johnson's, and Richard Helms was close enough to the top during McCone's tenure to watch it happen.

There are various explanations for McCone's failure with Johnson. He irritated Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara with frequent pleas for support in intelligence community battles with the Defense Intelligence Agency. He irritated Johnson with his skepticism about the president's War on Poverty. He once said, for example, that he had some poor relatives himself, but what they needed was a little hard work, not another government program. Johnson was not amused. Far more important, however, was the fact that McCone slipped out of phase with Johnson on Vietnam.

Throughout 1964 and 1965 McCone argued that the United States should neither bomb the North nor send troops to the South unless the president were willing to bomb heavily and send a lot of troops. But Johnson was preoccupied with the politics of the war; he wanted to slip around his critics by moving slowly. McCone argued that it was better to do nothing than too little, touching the president's rawest nerve, the soft point in his consensus.

In the past McCone had talked privately with Kennedy once a week, a source of great bureaucratic authority. Now McCone found it hard to see Johnson at all, even in groups. He was pointedly dropped from the Tuesday lunch, Johnson's main foreign-policy-making group, and he was told the president was no longer reading the CIA's paper. McCone never quite knew why he couldn't get along with Johnson but for one brief moment, when Johnson invited him to fly up to New York on the presidential plane for Herbert Hoover's funeral, McCone hoped that perhaps he was getting through at last. One CIA colleague said McCone was as happy with his invitation as a kid with a new toy, but it turned out to mean nothing. Johnson apparently had assumed that since Hoover was a conservative Republican, and McCone was a conservative Republican, it was only right to take one to the funeral of the other. Early in 1965 McCone told an aide, "I've been trying to get Johnson to sit down and read these papers [Soviet strategic estimates] and he won't do it. When I can't get the president to read even the summaries, it's time for me to leave."

The search for McCone's successor lasted for months before settling improbably on Johnson's prominent supporter and fellow Texan in 1964, Admiral William F. Raborn Jr. Raborn had a reputation as a management whiz and was the father of the Polaris program and champion of the PERT system—Program Evaluation Review Technique. Raborn's tenure as DCI was unhappy and short. He did everything wrong, such as calling up the CIA's Office of Current Intelligence during the Dominican crisis to ask how all the secret agents were getting along. The OCI was amazed; didn't Raborn understand need-to-know? The OCI didn't know any more about secret agents than the Department of Agriculture. "Sorry," said Raborn. "I get confused by all these buttons on the phone."

The principal beneficiary of Raborn's failure was Richard Helms, appointed by Johnson as Raborn's Deputy Director of Central Intelligence. In the spring of 1966 Johnson told reporters on one of his walking press conferences about the White House grounds that Raborn had been only an interim choice. He, Johnson, always told Raborn to bring Helms with him when he came to the White House because Helms was being groomed for the DCI's job. In June he got it.

Under Johnson and Nixon the central preoccupation of Helms' tenure as DCI was Vietnam, and its theme was the contradictory demand it placed on him for intelligence which accurately reflected what was happening in Vietnam, but which at the same time did not challenge the president's right—perhaps willingness is a better word, since who gave him the right?—to do as he liked in Vietnam. McCone told Johnson he was going about things in a way bound to fail. McCone was right. Johnson got rid of him. Helms did not miss the point. He provided Johnson and, later, Nixon with information which was as factually accurate—for the most part; we shall note some exceptions—as the CIA could make it. But the CIA phrased its questions in a narrow way, and Helms himself, during six and a half years as DCI, apparently never once told a president or anyone else that American policy was not working and was not going to work. He stood on punctilio. The CIA is an intelligence-gathering, not a policy-making body. Helms did not presume to advise on policy. Pressed, he would give an opinion, but he was never insistent, his fist never came down on the table, his voice did not rise. Dulles once told a friend that Helms had two great qualities: he knew how to keep his mouth shut, and he knew how to make himself useful. Helms, like the Agency he directed, was purely an instrument, and the two presidents he served found him useful.

It is almost impossible now to determine what Helms, himself, thought about Vietnam. "We just can't fight this kind of war," one colleague remembers him saying in a staff meeting, "not against a fanatically committed bunch of guys who don't need anything except a bag of rice on their backs." Helms had a fairly realistic idea of how we were doing, in other words—the CIA never said we were winning, unlike Walt Rostow, who always said we were winning—but Helms had no objection to the war. He thought the choice of enemy was fine, the choice of a means to fight him something else again.

In September 1966, Helms appointed a young analyst named George Carver as his Special Assistant for Vietnamese Affairs. "I can worry about Indochina or I can worry about the rest of the world," Helms told Carver at the time of his appointment. "I want you to worry about Indochina."

For at least 15 years Vietnam was the principal preoccupation of the CIA, and the DDP never ran larger foreign operations than it did there. A huge secret army was created in Laos which eventually totaled more than 30,000 men, and in Vietnam a country-wide program to route out the Vietcong infrastructure called Operation Phoenix eventually resulted in the death of at least 20,000 South Vietnamese and perhaps as many as 40,000.

The CIA was right about a lot of things involving Vietnam under Johnson and Nixon. It warned Johnson that bombing North Vietnam's oil-storage system in 1966 would not cripple Hanoi's war effort. It warned both presidents that bombing would never by itself break Hanoi's will to resist. It warned Nixon in 1972 that mining Haiphong harbor would only mean the diversion of military supplies to the rail lines from China. But the CIA was sometimes wrong, too.

In May 1971, for example, the CIA told the White House that the North Vietnamese did not have sufficient reserves in Laos to put up more than light resistance to a South Vietnamese foray across the Ho Chi Minh Trail. It turned out they had reserves aplenty. More than 600 American helicopters were hit. A hundred were shot down outright, and the South Vietnamese came back in wild disorder holding on to the helicopter skids.

In early 1972 the CIA predicted a North Vietnamese show of force, a "high point," probably in February when Nixon was in China, and probably in the Central Highlands. On March 27th Helms had lunch with C.L. Sulzberger and Sulzberger asked what had happened to the February offensive.

"We are absolutely positive it was intended," Helms told him. "And everything is still there, whenever they want to go. But we anticipated it and our bombing has been very intensive."

Three days later the North Vietnamese army came crashing through the Demilitarized Zone and swept down into the northern provinces of South Vietnam, threatening at one point to take Hue. Nixon felt challenged as never before; at the end of April he decided to mine Haiphong harbor and for a while it looked as if the offensive, and Nixon's reaction to it, would wreck the Moscow summit scheduled for the end of May, when a major U.S.-U.S.S.R. arms-control treaty was to be signed. As it turned out, the summit was not canceled, but Nixon did not appreciate the CIA's mistake, however difficult the job of such prediction, and however honest the error.

Some of the CIA's errors, however, were not quite so honest. It is not that they constitute outrightffying or deception, but rather a degree of cynical weariness, an overrefined sense of audience, a realistic caution about telling certain men things they don't want to hear.

By temperament and from an instinct for survival Helms shrank from battles; he would argue but not insist, and after a lifetime of softening differences in the interest of bureaucratic peace, compromise had become part of his nature. On major issues he began speaking only when spoken to, and when Nixon or Kissinger had decided to go ahead and do something, like invade Cambodia, Helms backed right out of the way.

Plans for an invasion of Cambodia developed quickly after the coup deposing Prince Norodom Sihanouk on March 18th, 1970. The military had long proposed cross-border operations by the South Vietnamese into the areas of Cambodia known as the Fishhook and the Parrot's Beak, where the Vietcong and NVA maintained supply centers, hospitals and—somewhere—the Central Office for South Vietnam (COSVN), the military headquarters of the VC/NVA. Enemy sanctuaries had always bothered the military, but they were especially worried about the import of munitions through the Cambodian port of Sihanoukville.

According to the CIA only 6000 tons of supplies had been imported through Sihanoukville-since December 1966, an estimate based mostly on the sophisticated reasoning of a CIA analyst named Paul Walsh, who had made his reputation in logistics studies. The military challenged the CIA figure, saying it was closer to 18,000 tons.

Then, early in 1970, an unopened crate of Chinese-made AK-47 machine guns was captured in Vietnam. Serial numbers showed they were of recent manufacture. The military intelligence agencies argued that it took months to ship material down the Ho Chi Minh Trail; the AK-47s must have come through Sihanoukville. The CIA said no, there was also an express route, and pointed to an aerial photograph showing a road—it looked more like a cow path to the military—from Pleiku down toward the Delta. CIA said the guns must have come that way. The military said are you kidding, this isn't a truck route; how could some peasant supply courier haul a 200-pound case of machine guns all the way down from Pleiku?

The controversy over Sihanoukville raged "all over town," according to one CIA official, from the CIA's Board of National Estimates all the way up to the president's Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board, but Helms stood by Walsh, supporting his estimate of the relative unimportance of Sihanoukville.

In late March and early April intelligence discovered that four VC/NVA divisions had moved into Cambodia from South Vietnam, apparently to protect the sanctuaries there. Military pressure for some sort of action mounted, and on April 21st Helms accompanied Kissinger to his regular morning meeting with the president. It was then, or soon after, that Helms learned the president was planning some sort of invasion of Cambodia to disrupt the sanctuaries, perhaps by South Vietnamese troops, perhaps by Americans or the two together. He was also ordered to keep the plans secret, and in particular not to inform the CIA's BNE or Indochina analysts.

A few weeks earlier the Office of National Estimates had begun work on a major paper, "Stocktaking in Indochina: Longer Term Prospects." On April 7th, Helms had returned an early draft of the paper to the chairman of the ONE, Abbot Smith, with the following note: "Okay. Let's develop the paper as you suggest and do our best to coordinate it within the Agency. But in the end I want a good paper on this subject, even if I have to make the controversial judgments myself. We owe it to the policymakers I feel."

A second draft of the paper was sent to Helms on April 13th. It touched on the question of an American invasion, purely hypothetically, and concluded there was some potential for disruption of VC/NVA military efforts, but that the effect would be neither crippling nor permanent. When Helms met Nixon on the 21st he had not yet forwarded him the Indochina paper, and afterward, as ordered, he did not tell the paper's authors of the president's invasion plans.

The planning was largely conducted in the White House under conditions of "incredible secrecy," according to one member of Kissinger's staff, who resigned in protest the week before the invasion.

Helms was a participant in many of the meetings which led up to the invasion. He did not argue against the invasion, and he did not show the paper on Indochina prepared by the ONE to Kissinger or Nixon, who had been steeling himself for his decision by watching the movie Patton. Later Helms explained that there was no point in doing so; the president had his mind made up, and it would have been unfair to the analysts, since they had not known about the invasion plans when they wrote the paper. Instead, on the evening of April 29th, Helms returned the paper to the ONE with a note saying: "Let's take a look at this on June 1st, and see if we would keep it or make certain revisions." June 1st was the date by which Nixon had promised to withdraw all American forces from Cambodia.

This episode did not win Helms any friends. CIA analysts were so angry they wrote and circulated a petition protesting Helms' refusal to send the Indochina paper to the White House, an act of protest unprecedented in the Agency's history, and Nixon was unhappy too. He did not enjoy the discovery that COSVN was a will-o'-the-wisp, but he was also angry about another discovery made during the invasion. A cache of enemy documents, lading slips and the like showed they had indeed been using Sihanoukville to bring in supplies. The true figure wasn't the 6000 tons since December 1966 claimed by the CIA, or the 18,000 tons claimed by the military; it was 23,000 tons and Nixon wanted an explanation.

Helms appointed a committee to make a post-mortem on the Sihanoukville matter. The chairman was Paul Walsh, the CIA analyst responsible for the original mistake. His committee concluded the CIA's reasoning had been too fine; it had extrapolated too freely from evidence too thin. The Agency had gone out on a limb, perhaps, but it was an honest error. Nixon was not appeased, but then Nixon was hard to please under the best of circumstances, and impossible to know. Richard helms often said he only worked for one president at a time, and until January 20th, 1969, that president was Lyndon Johnson. But a time came when it was not easy for Helms to know where his allegiance to Johnson ended and his allegiance to Richard Nixon began. His relationship to Nixon was to be distant and elusive, perhaps the strangest of his life, and it began on the same note of Byzantine intrigue and divided loyalty with which it ended almost exactly four years later. Helms first met the president-elect officially at the White House on Monday, November 11th, 1968, when Nixon paid a courtesy call on Johnson and received routine briefings from top administration officials. Most of them knew they would be leaving the government, of course, but Helms was in a somewhat different position as DCI and he hoped for reappointment. Sometime that week Helms was invited to come to the Hotel Pierre, Nixon's transition headquarters in New York, where he met first with John Mitchell and then was taken into Nixon's suite for a private conversation.

Nixon told Helms he would be reappointed as DCI, and of course Helms thanked him, but!—Nixon made quite a point of this—Helms was not to tell anyone. This was to remain secret until Nixon chose to make a public announcement. Helms agreed, and after he returned to Washington he told only a few old friends of his tentative reappointment, stressing the need for silence. They couldn't understand Nixon's insistence on absolute secrecy; they tried to guess his motives. Rumors spread in intelligence circles as time went by without an announcement. Nixon had been clear enough with Helms, however; he was going to be reappointed. Surely there was no problem, unless . . . well, there was one thing, one possible problem known to Helms and very few others, and Ehrlichman was to say later that if Nixon had known about it, that would have been the end of Helms.

During the last weeks of the 1968 election campaign Johnson's representatives at the preliminary peace talks in Paris were slowly working out an agreement with the North Vietnamese for a complete bombing halt in return for expanded peace talks among all interested parties, meaning the Vietcong as well as Saigon. On October 16th Johnson felt he was close enough to an agreement to call the candidates—Humphrey, Nixon and George Wallace—to ask their forbearance on the question of the war. Nixon agreed along with the others but later told his aides he was suspicious that the whole thing was a bit fishy, a bit too convenient in its timing. Then Nguyen Van Thieu in Saigon began to drag his feet; he didn't like the agreement, it gave away too much for too little and he didn't want to sign it. A reasonable enough position from his point of view, but Johnson was in no mood to see the reasons of a man standing in his way. Now he began to smell something fishy, to find Thieu's resistance a bit too convenient in its timing.

On Thursday, October 31st, Johnson announced a bombing halt on television, giving Humphrey an immediate lift in the polls, but then on Saturday, November 2nd, Thieu announced in Saigon that he would not take part in the expanded peace talks in Paris. On the same day a Johnson-ordered FBI tap of the South Vietnamese embassy in Washington picked up a call to an official from Mrs. Anna Chennault, the Chinese-born widow of the founder of the Flying Tiger Line in the Far East. She told the official to urge Saigon to hold off until after the election, when it would get better terms from Nixon.

When Johnson learned of Mrs. Chennault's call he was furious. On Sunday he called Nixon and denounced her meddling; Nixon denied any knowledge or involvement.

What Nixon did not know was that Johnson had asked Richard Helms, as well as the FBI, for an investigation of the matter, and that while he, Nixon, was telling Helms he would be reappointed as DCI, the CIA was gathering material in Saigon and Paris in an effort to determine why the South Vietnamese had been balking, and whether or not there had been collusion with Nixon or any of his representatives. George Carver had tried to reason with Walt Rostow at the White House, saying Thieu just didn't like the agreement, and that he wasn't doing anything the U.S. wouldn't do in a similar situation. Rostow wasn't having any; the White House wanted answers.

Helms, it is said, was not happy with the order to investigate possible Saigon-Nixon collusion for obstruction of the peace talks. It was a legitimate request, and one the CIA was in a position to answer, at least insofar as it could be answered by CIA files or by its agents and electronic surveillance in Paris and Saigon. But the target was the man who had just been elected president, and who was about to reappoint Helms as DCI.

As it turned out, the investigation was far from thorough because Saigon agreed to join the peace talks the week after the election. Johnson cooled down, and he had time to reflect. What, after all, would be the next step, if Helms or Hoover told him that Nixon had been behind the delay? It was better not to know than to know and do nothing. But while the investigation lasted Helms did his part, according to one colleague, for the reason he so often cited when the interests of one president clashed with another's: he worked for only one president at a time.

On December 16th, 1968, Nixon announced the reappointment of J. Edgar Hoover as Director of the FBI and Richard Helms as Director of Central Intelligence.

At 10 a.m. on the morning of Monday, February 5th, 1973, Senator J. William Fulbright of Arkansas called the Senate Foreign Relations Committee to order in Room 4221 of the Dirksen Senate Office Building for the purpose of considering the nomination of Richard Helms to be ambassador to Iran.

The Chairman: Mr. Helms, we are very pleased to have you this morning. Would you for the record just state what you have been doing the last 10 or 15 years?

Mr. Helms: I was working for the Central Intelligence Agency, Mr. Chairman.

The Chairman: I am glad for it to come out at last. This has all been classified. I think this is the first time you have ever appeared before this committee in open session, isn't it?

Mr. Helms: That is correct, sir. The Chairman: In all these years.

Mr. Helms: All these years.

The Chairman: Are you sure we were wise in having them in executive session?

Mr. Helms: Yes, sir. . . .

The Chairman: Are you under the same oath that all CIA men are under that when you leave the Agency you cannot talk about your' experiences there?

Mr. Helms: Yes, sir, I feel bound by that.

The Chairman: You feel bound by that, too?

Mr. Helms: I think it would be a very bad example for the Director to be an exception.

As so often before, helms was telling the truth. There can have been few senior government officials who more completely won the trust of congressmen. In a speech before the American Society of Newspaper Editors in April 1971—one of the rare public speeches of his CIA career—Helms said, "The nation must to a degree take it on faith that we too are honorable men devoted to her service."

The senators at that hearing in February 1973, three days after Helms left CIA headquarters at Langley, Virginia, for the last time, took him to be just such an honorable man. They knew how often he had gone out on a limb, even jeopardizing his career, to tell them what he took to be the truth. At a private briefing of the Foreign Relations Committee in May 1969, for example, Helms and Carl Duckett, of the CIA's Directorate for Science and Technology, had directly contradicted certain claims by Melvin Laird, the secretary of defense, concerning the Soviet Union's huge new missile called the SS-9, claims also made by Kissinger, Nixon's special assistant for national security affairs.

The result in the White House was cold fury, so much so that it was a subject of general speculation in Kissinger's office whether Helms could survive as DCI. One staff member remembers thinking that if it had not been for Helms' reputation for integrity throughout government circles, he would have been sacked.

The Senate Foreign Relations Committee trusted Helms to tell them the truth about the SS-9, but it wasn't traditional intelligence questions the senators had in mind when Helms testified on February 5th, 1973, and again for two hours in executive session two days later. On those occasions they wanted to know about things like the CIA's clandestine army in Laos, reports of CIA involvement in the Chilean election of 1970, a CIA program to train U.S. police departments in the right way to keep intelligence files, the CIA's alleged involvement in the heroin traffic in Southeast Asia, liaison troubles with the FBI, CIA support of Radio Free Europe, a rumored report of CIA involvement in a "1969 or 1970" White House plan to keep track of the domestic antiwar movement, and especially about the CIA's involvement in the Watergate break-in.

There were a lot of outstanding questions about the CIA in early 1973, beginning with why Helms had been fired in the first place. Later, Helms' friends would say there was only one reason: Watergate. Helms refused to kill the FBI's investigation (which one former CIA officer said could easily have been done) and Nixon fired him in revenge.

The trouble with this is that Nixon fired Helms six months after he refused to cooperate, and he did not refuse to cooperate altogether. Some evidence—letters from McCord to the CIA saying the administration was trying to blame the break-in on the Agency, for example—was withheld from the attorney general for months. Whatever the final impetus for the firing, Nixon's feud with Helms and the Agency had been going on for years.

It wasn't so much that Helms failed to win the war in Vietnam or to topple Allende or anything of that sort, as the fact that the CIA paper was bland in its conclusions, coy in concealing its sources, and too often plain wrong about things in the morning paper. According to Ehrlichman, Nixon thought the CIA was overstaffed with impractical Ivy League intellectuals. "What use are they?" he'd ask when the CIA failed to warn him about something. "They've got 40,000 people out there reading newspapers."

As early as September 1969, General Alexander Haig, then an assistant to Kissinger, retained a Rand Institute expert to study the CIA and the rest of the intelligence community. The administration did not like the CIA's product, Haig told the Rand expert; the president intended to do something. Despite Helms' efforts to meet their objections, the administration never liked the CIA's paper.

Helms was fired in the second week of November 1972, but word of it did not leak out until the end of the month.

The fact that he was fired leads to a further mystery: why did Nixon appoint Helms to be ambassador to Iran?

John Ehrlichman published a novel last spring called The Company in which he suggested in fictional terms that Helms blackmailed Nixon into the Iran appointment by threatening him with photographs of the Watergate break-in. Was Ehrlichman trying to tell us something?

One CIA account of Helms' departure says that at first Nixon wasn't going to give Helms another job at all because he thought Helms was a Democratic appointee and he could damn well fend for himself. But then Nixon learned Helms was a career civil servant and asked him what he'd like, and Helms picked the post in Iran. (His resignation was announced last Election Day.) Why Iran? Because the CIA put the shah in power, Iran is an important bulwark in the defense of the Persian Gulf oil states, the U.S. embassy in Tehran is huge, demanding the talents of an administrator, and the CIA runs a number of major programs in Iran such as electronic listening posts and the like. It was a congenial job of importance, in other words, and Helms may also have concluded it would not be a bad idea to get out of Washington.

This account of a gap between Helms' dismissal and his new appointment is consistent with Ehrlichman's fictionalized blackmail version, but it is inconsistent with the CIA accounts of Helms' shock and dismay at his dismissal. He liked the job and wanted to be reappointed, he had hopes of serving as DCI longer than Dulles, and if he had been in a position to blackmail Nixon and angry enough to do so, then why not blackmail him for his job as DCI?

The members of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee had a lot on their minds that day in February 1973.

At the beginning of the second session Senator Fulbright said, "I think Mr. Helms, in view of the nature of these questions, it would be appropriate that you be sworn as a witness, which is customary where we have investigative questions. Would you raise your hand and swear. Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Helms raised his hand, "I do, sir," he said.

On that day, as on so many similar days since, Helms testified truthfully only about matters of small consequence, or about things which had already become known. If he were asked about things which were still secret he would not betray them, not then, not ever, not to anyone.

The Watergate and Church committee investigations uncovered a great deal about Nixon, the CIA and the secret history of the last 20 years before they finally came to a halt, but as far as I know, no one ever learned anything from Helms. He testified on more than 30 separate occasions, sometimes in open hearings, more often in executive session, but the secrets which emerged did not come from him. During his testimony in February 1973, he did not tell the Foreign Relations Committee about the aid to E. Howard Hunt in 1971, or about his meeting with Ehrlichman and Haldeman on June 23rd, 1972, when he was asked to scuttle the FBI's investigation of Watergate funding. He did not mention the Ellsberg break-in, although he certainly ought to have known of it by that time, and he flatly denied CIA attempts to overthrow Allende even though one of the senators present, Stuart Symington, knew a good deal about it. He did not mention the Huston domestic intelligence plan or Nixon's request through Ehrlichman for certain CIA files which might discredit the Kennedys—files which Helms finally handed over to Nixon himself with the observation that he worked for only one president at a time. He did not tell them what explanation Nixon gave for his dismissal, if any, or suggest who might have been hired behind the Watergate break-in. Helms was, then as later, the least forthcoming of witnesses.

There are three reasons why Helms kept the secrets. Obviously, the first is that he was at the heart of a lot of them; candor would amount to self-incrimination. Helms was protecting himself.

The second is that the secrets to which Watergate led threatened to wreck the CIA by shattering that complacent trust in the Agency's honor and good sense, without which it can have no freedom of action. If Congress once insisted on real oversight of the Agency's operations the secrets would begin to get out and the CIA would be hobbled. Helms was protecting the Agency.

The third reason is harder to explain. The history of the CIA is the secret history of the Cold War. Over the last 30 years one-half of the CIA only answered questions—sometimes rightly, sometimes not—but the other half. . . did things. . . . The things it did were not all as bad as bribery, extortion and murder, etc., but they were all the sort of things which cannot work unless they are secret. If a foreign leader is known to be on the CIA's payroll he ceases to be a leader. Who would believe in the anticommunism of a newspaper which could not publish without CIA funds? How can it be argued that Allende is a threat to American security when it is known that ITT is a principal advocate of his removal? There is a chasm between what nations say and what nations do, and the CIA—or the KGB, or MI-6, or Chile's DINA, or Israel's Shin Bet, as the case may be—is the bridge across the chasm.

The CIA's belief in secrets is almost metaphysical. Intelligence officers are cynical men in most ways, but they share one unquestioned tenet of faith which reminds me of that old paradox which is as close as most people ever get to epistemology: if a tree falls in the desert, is there any sound?

The CIA would say no. The real is the known; if you can keep the secrets, you can determine the reality. If no one knows we tried to kill Castro, then we didn't do it. If ITT's role in Chile is never revealed, then commercial motives had nothing to do with the Allende affair. If no one knows we overthrew Premier Mossadegh, then the Iranians did it all by themselves. If no one knows we tried to poison Lumumba, it didn't happen. If no one knows how many Free World politicians had to be bribed, then we weren't friendless.

So it wasn't just himself and the CIA that Helms was protecting when he kept the secrets. It was the stability of a quarter-century of political "arrangements," the notion of a Free World, the illusion of American honor. Only Helms would not have admitted it was an illusion, perhaps not even to himself. If no one knows what we did, he would have thought, then we aren't that sort of country.

During his final week as DCI Richard Helms destroyed his personal records. On January 16th, 1973, Senator Mike Mansfield mailed Helms a letter asking him to preserve all materials relating to Watergate. Helms testified later that he checked everything carefully but one allows oneself to doubt.

It doesn't take much wit to guess why so secretive a man with so secretive a profession would destroy his records. If it wasn't Nixon's curiosity which Helms feared, it was the prying of the Senate, of the Watergate grand jury, of the press and even of history. Like Lyman Kirkpatrick, Helms thought secrets should be secret "from inception to eternity."

Sometime during his last week as DCI, probably on January 24th, Helms systematically obliterated a huge volume of material including tape transcripts (he had a taping system), memos, reports, notes and so on—everything he had collected as DCI for six and a half years. He also ordered the destruction of the records of a program to test LSD and other drugs which he had initiated during the 1950s, and he may have destroyed other records as well. By that time he remained loyal only to the CIA, and to his oath to keep the secrets.

"Sir," Helms volunteered at the end of his testimony on February 7th, 1973, "in an effort to sort of close this, about this Watergate business, you have asked all the relevant questions. I have no more information to convey and I know nothing about it. Honestly, I do not."

"And your people," Fulbright asked, "other than that one man who was a consultant. . ."

"We had nothing to do with it," Helms said, "honestly we didn't."

But it was too late. A tenuous chain of events was already gathering momentum. Back in 1971 Helms had—reluctantly, as always—agreed to prepare a psychological profile of Daniel Ellsberg for the White House. In April 1973, the break-in of his psychiatrist's office and the existence of the profile both became public. A lot of people were mad, including the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, which called Helms back again, this time to question him about possible perjury. The committee staff had prepared a list of more than 100 questions, but at the last minute Symington asked Fulbright to conduct the hearing as a public session, which meant the senators, not the well-prepared staff counsel, would be asking the questions. Helms' explanations were lame even so, and when one senator asked a question which ought to have elicited an answer about a CIA domestic operation called CHAOS, Helms simply ran the risk of a new perjury charge and said the CIA had never done anything of the sort.

The new Director of Central Intelligence, James Schlesinger, was also mad in May 1973. His principal subordinate, William Colby, had already briefed him on "all" CIA-Watergate matters, meaning the relationship with Hunt. The Ellsberg profile and break-in had not been mentioned. Schlesinger asked Colby if there were going to be any more surprises. Colby said he didn't know; the Ellsberg profile had been unknown to him too. So Schlesinger, on May 8th, 1973, sent a memo to every employee of the CIA asking them to report to the Inspector General whatever they might know concerning CIA programs of doubtful legality. When the IG had compiled the abuse report it contained 693 items. Colby, by then DCI, learned a lot of things he had never known. It was then, for example, that he first saw the IG's 1967 report on assassinations, of which there was only a single copy.

At that time Seymour Hersh of the New York Times was already at work on a CIA investigation, and in the wake of the abuse report Hersh eventually learned the outline of CHAOS. After his story appeared on December 22nd, 1974, President Ford asked Colby for a report. Colby told him about the material in the abuse report, and he also told him about the IG's 1967 assassination report. In January Ford met with the editorial board of the New York Times and, incredibly, he told them, off the record, he was quite concerned that a full-scale investigation would turn up some extremely embarrassing material. Such as what? Such as CIA involvement in assassination plots. The president told this to a newspaper. The CIA still finds it hard to believe.

Not long after that Daniel Schorr of CBS News learned of Ford's off-the-record meeting with the Times but he was unable to prove the CIA had, in fact, been involved in such plots. Then he stopped to consider that Ford's apprehension alone was a story. On February 28th, 1975, Schorr went on the air and, 16 years after the assassination plots began, they finally became public.

Let us conclude with a footnote, A final small insight into the career and character of Richard Helms. He was the mildest mannered of men. Even under circumstances of stress he retained his composure and his good humor. When Sam Adams told Helms personally, in the fall of 1968, that he was trying to get him fired, Helms never expressed anger or irritation or anything but amused acceptance of Adams' temerity. Later, of course, he ran bureaucratic circles around Adams' effort to have him fired. Lyman Kirkpatrick said that as far as he knew Helms never hammered a desk or raised his voice or called anyone a name in anger, not even during the Bay of Pigs struggle when he came so close to derailing his career. "You're not going to find out if Helms ever did that," Kirkpatrick said, "unless he tells you himself, because it's not the kind of thing he'd do in front of people."

But a time came when he did do such a thing in front of people. Once and once only. It happened on April 28th, 1975, as Helms was leaving an appearance before the Rockefeller commission in which he was asked not about Watergate, on which he had fenced so often by that time, but about assassinations, concerning which he knew so much and would say so little. (Helms' testimony on this and other matters reads like the puzzled groping of an amnesia victim, which no doubt explains his anger—shared by many other CIA people—at William Colby. They resent and put the worst construction on Colby's cooperation with the congressional investigating committees. Colby didn't have to volunteer all those secrets, they say.)

Daniel Schorr was waiting outside the hearing room and approached Helms. Others were standing there, too, not government officials who might be expected to be discreet, but wire-service reporters. No more public encounter could have been arranged, in fact, unless it were on television.

Something in Helms broke. "You son of a bitch," he yelled at the man who had revealed the biggest secret of all. "You killer! You cocksucker! Killer Schorr! That's what they should call you!"

But a few minutes later Helms regained himself, and listened to Schorr's explanation that it had not been he but the president who had revealed the assassination story, and after Schorr's explanation, Richard Helms apologized for his outburst. But as for Schorr's questions about assassination, well . . . Helms had nothing to say.