ON June 12, 1987, the cold war entered a terminal phase, in ways that few could have anticipated, and in fact, almost no one did — with the exception of a president down on his legendary luck.
If in 1984 Ronald Reagan had proclaimed that it was “morning again in America,” three years later the evening was coming fast for a presidency that had spent most of its energy. The Iran-contra scandal had damaged him, and in March 1987 only 42 percent of Americans approved of the job he was doing. Reagan’s diary reveals a president losing focus, with entries registering more enthusiasm for old videos than the crushing business of state. On May 23, 1987, a good day: “Ran a movie about Big Foot & to my surprise I was in it — a shot of me & Bonzo on a TV set.”
But the aging actor still had a trick or two up his sleeve. For months, a trip had been planned to Berlin, a city famous for its stages. John F. Kennedy had given one of the greatest speeches of his presidency there in 1963; it would be a challenge for Reagan to duplicate the excitement of that visit. Like him, the cold war seemed to be losing steam. But Reagan’s loyal aides pitched the idea of a major speech at the Brandenburg Gate, and the writers began to crank out drafts. A single line kept calling attention to itself: an appeal to tear down the Berlin Wall, which ran alongside the gate.
In a way, it was a no-brainer. No one had ever liked the wall, since its construction in 1961. But to express that antipathy in 1987, as tensions were winding down, was impolitic. An encouraging new leader of the Soviet Union, Mikhail S. Gorbachev, was bravely campaigning for perestroika (restructuring), glasnost (opening) and a third word we don’t remember as well, uskorenie (acceleration). Things were trending in the right direction in United States-Soviet relations. Most of Reagan’s foreign policy advisers opposed adding incendiary language.
There were other complications as well. The Brandenburg Gate offered an impressive backdrop, but it was so close to East Berlin that the Secret Service feared the president could be exposed to Communist snipers. Yet building a protective barrier would erect a wall around him at the same time that he was calling for the wall to be torn down. Worse, it would deny TV audiences a chance to see the wall. An ingenious solution was found — a glass partition that gave a clear view of the wall, and the gate.
But to those attuned to nuance, the gate posed its own problems.
It was not much of a gate, and for most of its history, it was illegal for anyone who was not a member of the Prussian royal family to walk through its central passage. A huge ceremonial structure, it borrowed features from the Acropolis, in tribute to the long fascination ancient Greece exerted upon the German imagination (a fascination that in no way extends to the current German-Greek relationship). For many Germans, however, its ghosts did not conjure Aegean democracy or Beethoven, but helmet-tipped Prussians and goose-stepping Nazis. The Reagan team might have been sensitive on that point, after the controversy caused by his visit to a Nazi cemetery on his previous trip to Germany.
One of Reagan’s gifts, however, was not to care about the wisps of history, or the contrary advice of his advisers. He insisted that the line be included, and so, midway through the speech, the president said, “Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” The lines were delivered crisply. It is unusual for a president to use the second-person imperative — it’s one of the reasons we remember J.F.K.’s invocation to “ask not.” Near the end, Reagan spotted a bit of graffiti spray-painted on the wall, and read it aloud: “This wall will fall. Beliefs become reality.”
Shortly after, he flew back to Washington. His diary entry for June 12 does not overwhelm with its acuity (“I was surprised that we traveled in bright sunshine for about 8 of the 8 1/2 hour flight. It didn’t get dark until a little less than an hour out and yet it was after 3 A.M. back where we left”). But something had changed in the atmosphere. A gate had opened. And two years later, it was exactly as he predicted. The wall fell — not because Mr. Gorbachev tore it down, but because he did nothing at all.
To this day, Reagan attracts fierce partisans, eager to claim he “won” the cold war, and this speech is often cited in that argument. The claim feels forced, given that the U.S.S.R. outlasted his presidency by two years. But on this day, Reagan’s inner actor proved shrewder than most who would have counseled realpolitik. His theatrical turn on Berlin’s greatest stage stated a great moral truth, the way the best theater does, and proved the accuracy of Mr. Gorbachev’s third concept, uskorenie — acceleration.
Mr. Gorbachev deserves some of the credit, and in fact, the vast majority of young Germans in 1989 felt gratitude to him, not to Ronald Reagan. No one deserves more credit than the young graffiti-painters who protested against the wall for 28 years, and finally liberated themselves. But surely some recognition should go to a president who had the good sense to ignore the advice he was given, and read the writing on the wall.
Source: New York Times
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