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Can You Get My Name in the Papers? |
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THE AMBASSADORS One of
them was Mr Shlomo Argov, a man of immense intellect, who represented
his country in Nigeria, Ghana, America, Mexico and Netherlands before
coming to Britain in 1979. In a talk I gave to a speakers' course on
Jewish and Israeli affairs I told my audience, "Mr Argov's comments
on current affairs and Israel's attitude to its many and varied problems
can be regularly read in the Jewish newspapers and sometimes in the
non-Jewish press. Reading his speeches is as good as any course on Middle
East affairs anyone is likely to get in this country." One of
my voluntary jobs for many years has been to arrange meetings with local
politicians and news media people in Glasgow for visiting Israeli ambassadors.
Nowadays I do this in collaboration with Dr Ezra Golombok, director
of the Glasgow-based Israel
Information Office. On the morning of Shlomo Argov's visit to Glasgow
with his wife Chava in March 1980 I took him to the BBC for a radio
interview, to the Chamber of Commerce to see Forbes Macpherson, the
president, and then to the Glasgow Herald to talk to Arnold Kemp, the
editor. After lunch
with Lord Provost David Hodge at the City Chambers Argov asked me, "Can
we get away from all this for a little while? I'd like to walk round
the town." Argov had spent a night in Glasgow in 1953 during a
honeymoon visit to Scotland and wanted to have another look at the city.
As we walked we were closely followed by a number of security men who
were not at all happy. I also arranged, at her request, for Margaret
Milne, an Evening Times reporter, to interview Mrs Argov. "How
do you feel about the fact that your husband is a potential target for
terrorists?" asked Margaret. "It
is something you have to live with," said Mrs Argov. "If you
let your mind dwell on it too much you could not cope." Margaret's story was headlined A QUIET STROLL FOR TARGET NO 1. Little
did Mrs Argov know what the future held for her and her husband. A couple
of days after the Argovs went back to London the ambassador wrote to thank me for my help in arranging
his Glasgow visit. His letter ended, "I hope it won't be long before
we have a chance to see each other again." To my great sorrow an
Arab terrorist made it virtually impossible for us to meet again. On
June 3, 1982, Argov was coming out of the Dorchester Hotel
in London after a diplomats' dinner when the terrorist fired a burst
from a sub-machine gun at him, wounding the 52-year-old father of three
in the head. The ambassador
survived but was completely paralysed. In immediate response the Israeli Air Force attacked
two known terrorist bases in the Beirut area of Lebanon without loss
of civilian life. The Palestine Liberation Organisation then began a
24-hour attack on civilian targets in Northern Galillee and on the Christian
enclave in South Lebanon. More than 1000 shells were fired at 23 settlements,
including the towns of Kiryat Shemona and Nahariya, setting the whole
of Northern Lebanon ablaze. Only then
was Operation Peace for Galilee launched not as was often claimed by
the news media as a reprisal for the shooting of Shlomo Argov. The Israel
Defence Forces found in Southern Lebanon weapons supplied from virtually
every arms-dealing country in the world; America, Britain, China, France,
Germany, Japan, Libya, the Soviet Union, Sweden, and Vietnam. They included
rocket-launchers, cannon, anti-aircraft guns, tanks, and thousands and
thousands of light arms and ammunition, enough to equip seven brigades. A report
in the London Times of June 19, 1982 said, When the Israelis came, said
one middle-aged Lebanese woman, the Palestinian fighters took their
guns and placed them next to our homes, next to apartment blocks, hospitals
and schools. They thought this would protect them. We pleaded with them
to take their guns away but they refused. So when they fired at the
Israelis the planes came and bombed our homes. The director
of one Sidon hospital still seemed to disbelieve his own words as he
described how the terrorists deliberately set up their anti-aircraft
guns around his clinic. At their own Ein Hilweh camp the Palestinians
actually put their guns on the roof of the hospital. Shlomo
Argov is still completely paralysed and spends much of his time in hospital.
The dedication and love of his family and the doctors and nurses who
have looked after him over the years cannot easily be expressed in words. Enthusiasm
for my communal work for Israel once caused an international incident
involving the Israeli Foreign Office in Jerusalem, an Israeli government-owned
company which was somewhat coy about some of its products, the Israeli
Ambassador to Britain, Buckingham Palace, Scotland Yard, and the British
security services. The story
started in 1982 when a man named Michael Fagan broke into Buckingham
Palace and sat on the Queen's bed for an informal, if rather one-sided,
chat. Scotland
Yard and the security agencies were understandably upset by this unthinkable
breach of security and a world-wide search was undertaken to find a
security system that did not allow such intrusions into the life of
the head of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth. An appropriate
security system was finally found in Israel and in the course of time
was set up round the palace. I learned
about the security system during a holiday in Israel and when I went
home I wrote a story about it for distribution to the British news media
by my younger son Michael who at that time ran the Scottish-Israel Information
Office in Glasgow, the function of which was to distribute material
about political issues and news about cultural, scientific, industrial,
commercial, and social developments in Israel. The story
appeared in a number of newspapers, including the London Times, Daily
Telegraph, Glasgow Herald, and The Scotsman - and all hell broke out.
The newspapers tried to follow up the story with Buckingham Palace,
Scotland Yard, the Israeli Embassy, Israel Aircraft Industries, the
manufacturers of the security fence, and anyone else they could get,
but all these sources remained tight-lipped. Understandably the newspapers
treated the story as some kind of sensational revelation. I was quoted
as saying "I took the view it was good public relations for Israel
for it to be known that an Israeli-made product was guarding the Queen
and her family. The story was meant to deter anyone else from camping
in the palace grounds (as a group of Germans had earlier done) or sitting
on the Queen's bed to have a chat with her." Michael maintained
a discreet silence. Two tall
raincoats from an un-named government body appeared in my office in
the City Chambers demanding to know where I got the story but under
the journalist's prerogative of not revealing his source of information
I declined to tell them. Later my phone rang and a voice told me to
hang on for the Israeli ambassador. "I
would be grateful if you would tell me where you got this story,"
said His Excllency Mr Yehuda Avner." "I'm
afraid I can't do that, sir," I said. "Henry,"
said the ambassasdor, "the wires between here and Jerusalem are
in danger of melting. I have not been here long and if you don't tell
me where you got that story I am liable to be directing the traffic
in the Negev desert next week!" I had tried
to give the impression all along that I had got the story through brilliant
investigative reporting but the truth was rather different. "I
got the story from a magazine published by the Israel Information Centre
in Jerusalem," I told the ambassador. "The story was also
in the International Security Review some months ago so it was hardly
a secret." "Oh,"
said a nonplussed ambassador. "Er...thank you." The Director
of the information centre later told me the Israelis weren't really
concerned about the story at all, only that the embassy in London hadn't
been told the office they were funding for Michael in Glasgow was sending
it out and were unprepared for the subsequent bombardment by the press.
Ambassador
Avner, who incidentally was born in Manchester, was indulging in a bit
of journalistic hyperbole when he phoned and we later had a number of
friendly meetings during projects in which we were involved. When Ambassador
Yoav Biran came to Glasgow in February 1993 he asked me to ride with
him in his car but a security man led me gently aside and said, "Give
us a break Harry. It's difficult enough guarding the ambassador without
having to look after you, too! Come in our car." British
and Israeli security men weren't the only spooks for whom I caused some
heartburn. During a visit to Glasgow of Mr Vasily Zakharov, Soviet Minister
of Culture, I took him and his wife Irina for a walk in crowded Buchanan
Street, followed by several of his
minders. Mr Zakharov's programme was packed with visits to museums
of all kinds from Madame Tussaud's to the Burrell Collection, operas,
and theatres. Towards the end of lunch with Lord Provost Susan Baird
his interpreter whispered in as diplomatic a way as possible that Mr
Zakharov had just about had his fill of museums and formal lunches and
dinners and had expressed an interest in seeing something of the famous
Glasgow. After lunch
I suggested to Mr Zakharove's interpreter that we go for a walk round
the elegant shops in Buchanan Street. His security men almost had a
cardiac arrest when he and his wife split up and he walked down one
side of the street while Mrs Zakharov inspected the other side. At one
point when Mr Zakharov was trying on shoes in one of the shops we went
into I bitterly regretted not having a camera to record the Soviet Minister
of Culture in his socks, balanced delicately on one leg as he manoeuvred
into a highly-decorative, expensive pair of capitalist brogues.
Mr Zakharov
came to Britain under the aegis of the British Council to "familiarise
himself with British culture." I discovered that his programme included Edinburgh but not Glasgow.
I pointed out indignantly to the British Council that the absence of
Glasgow in the programme was ludicrous, especially as we were to be
Cultural Capital of Europe the following year, 1990. In addition Robert
Palmer, who had been appointed to mastermind our year of culture, had
been in Moscow to talk to Mr Zakharov's ministry about the Soviet's
involvement in our 1990 celebrations. Glasgow was quickly added to the
Minister's itinerary. An example of the pitfalls that attend the
entertaining of VIPS was revealed in a letter I received from the British
Council's Glasgow office asking me to ensure that the Zakharovs were
not given smoked salmon, venison, or strawberries for lunch in the City
Chambers as that what was on the menu for their lunch the following
day with Mr Malcolm Rifkind, Secretary of State for Scotland Once at
a City Chambers dinner for a group of
diplomats from one of the emergent countries we were munching
at haggis and neeps which an inspired catering manageress decided to
serve that night when one of the group asked me,
"Do you eat a lot of this Mr Diamond?" My diplomatic
skills not having been too finely honed I replied before I had a chance
to stop myself, "You must be joking. We only bring this rubbish
out for people like you." To my great relief my dinner companions
were convulsed with merriment. I once told that story at a dinner attended
by the Secretary of State for Scotland which may account for the fact
that my knighthood has been in the post for a helluva long time. |