The "Brazilian Model of Development" has been the subject of a good deal of comment and analysis during the past few years Some of those who once looked widi hope upon the experiments of the "democratic left" of the fifties as a potentially viable and dynamic alternative to Communist and totalitarian models for less developed countries have now begun to consider that the "modernizing military managers" might offer a more relevant model. Indeed, current interest seems to be in comparing the Chilean and Brazilian models in terms of social and human cost and benefit, though it is certainly too early for any conclusive judgments of net results in either case.

Africa's art tradition rests in a defined and ritualized relationship between man and the Supreme Creator, the primary essence that dwells at the center of all religious processes. Art then becomes the proper instrument of expressing man's world, a measuring rod of his conception of this same world beyond the grave. In the puristic sense, art in Africa becomes a means of expressing man's will and wishes to the Creator, an assertion of his own temporality as a living being (mortal), yet bearing the distinct virtue and energy of the determinable (real and unreal) world's animus. More important, art for the African is the articulation of his own spiritual awareness and sensibility within his cosmos. So it becomes an extension ab initio of the ritualism of all things, the unified expression and morphological statement of his communal and individual aspiration toward the divine.

The use of fire in warfare is as old as history itself. It has been an offensive weapon, a defensive weapon and an instrument of psychological terror. To the ancient warrior fire was a way to destroy wooden ships and fortifications made of inflammable materials. Greek fire, the secret weapon of the Byzantines, repelled barbarian invasions in the seventh century. General Sherman tried to break the will of the South by burning a path to the sea. The Americans, with napalm and Zippo lighters, and the Viet Cong, with flamethrowers, continued the tradition by laying waste peasant villages in Vietnam.

Concrete bunkers and steel ships have not made fire obsolete from a military viewpoint, for the technology of setting fires has stayed a step ahead of the ability to put them out. The jet streaking in low with a canister of napalm has replaced the flaming brand tossed over a wall, and the flaming arrow has given way to a warhead of white-hot magnesium or thermite.

At the time the American public seemed to take the Mylai massacre itself in stried Lieutenant William Calley's conviction produced a massive response, with many signs of anger, bitterness and indignation. The pattern should not surprise any student of history or social science. It is consistent with what we have learned from Nazi Germany and elsewhere about the banality of evil, the dividing line between in-group and out-group, the unquestioning nature of obedience to legitimate authority. Yet the intensity of the public outcry against the conviction and the seemingly complex pattern of reactions called for some explanation. We looked for part of the explanation in a national survey we conducted about a month after Calley s conviction was announced.

Yugoslavia's history has been shaped by paradox. Twenty million people share a land area of approximately 96,000 square miles, which includes the mountainous south, with a largely nomadic population, and the flat river plains of the north, the agricultural heartland. Through its long history the people have been divided by unending confrontations between Eastern and Western Europe, between the Byzantine Empire and the Empire of the Francs, between the Moslem and the Christian worlds. Yugoslavia has been everyone's battleground. The imperial ambitions of Russia, Austria-Hungary, Germany and Italy have all ravaged Yugoslavia.

All this has created a people possessing many important differences and many equally important similarities.

According to biblical tradition the people of Israel were led by Yahweh "out of Egypt's house of bondage." Salvation was liberation from forced labor. Thus, in accord with that same tradition, we recognize that all people are called to be God's people and that this means we are destined to guide our lives in personal freedom and responsibility. So the Decalogue, a manifesto of freedom and justice, is prefaced with the words: "I am the Lord your God, who has brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of tne house of bondage. You shall have no other gods before me."

The thirty-eighth floor of the U.N. Secretariat building, though it perches high over the East River, is hardly a setting of which dreams are made. No fairy-tale castle tower this, but a practical beige and green cocoon in which some of the most important work in the world gets done. Teak and "Scandinavian modern" are much in evidence, a legacy from the Hammarskjöld years.

I was briefed by Press Secretary André Lewin before my interview with Kurt Waldheim and took that opportunity, to ask some questions about the Secretary-General. What are Mr. Waldheim's avocations, if any? He adores the opera, said Lewin, and would love to go when he is in New York, but he just hasn't any time. The Waldheims have a country retreat in Connecticut which they are able to visit from time to time on weekends.

One of the convictions shared by the Israelis on the eve of the Six-Day War has just been seriously shaken. The certainty that the Jewish state was threatened with extermination in May-June, 1967, has attained a status of dogma, which no one could question without the likelihood of being accused of treasor or mental instability."

Thus begins a review of the "annihilation controversy" in Israel, or the "Generals' polemic," as it has been called by an Israeli Jewish journalist, Amnon Kapeliuk, writing in Le Monde. (I am heavily indebted to this important review in early sections of this article.) On June 12, 1967, immediately after the war was over, Levi Eshkol, the Israeli prime minister, stated to the Knesset: "The existence of the Israeli state hung on a thread, but the hopes of the Arab leaders to exterminate Israel were brought to nought."

The movement for a governed world has undergone a mutation recently and shows signs of again becoming an important factor in the intellectual and political worlds—for the first time since the early 1950's. The new federalism, or, if you like, neo-federalism, is no less idealistic than the old, but the time scales are different and the policies more pragmatic.

Organizations and movements are not the same thing. The movement for a federated world really got under way immediately following World War II, and at first there was a high degree of congruency between the United World Federalists and the movement.

Radical feminism as a political movement is associated with a series of unjustified claims. It is, as I have been arguing, simply not true that "women are oppressed" or that "men and marriage are the primary obstacles to woman's human fulfillment." We now turn to three corollary claims: that

—monogamous marriage and the nuclear family are crucial instruments of exploitative capitalism

—romantic love is the ideology of sexism

—femininity and other manifestations of sexual differentiation are inimical to sexual equality.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin was at work in China from 1924 to 1945, the years in which Chinese communism emerged. The Jesuit scientist saw jhis struggle for mastery in a way almost unique for a Westerner. After only a few years in China Teilhard could write: “Politically the situation is more troubled than ever with the Bolshevists gaining the upper hand on the Yangtse. I am beginning to believe that their success will be the signal for the reorganization of China—but at the expense of the Europeans.”

Teilhard was pulled by both East and West; from Europe and America came the flow of discovery, and yet Western churches and nations disparaged the new movements under way.

Of late, many quite popular opinions have struck me as exceedingly odd. For example, I just came across a pamphlet by Thomas Fenton entitled "Coffee—the Rules of the Game and You" (The Christophers, 1972). The gist of this plea, made in the name of religious concern, is a rehash of trade figures designed to prove that Latin America, as well as the rest of the world, is being "exploited" by prevailing levels of consumption in the developed world, as well as by "unfair" modes of international production and exchange. In effect, the supposition is that our simple pleasures—such as a morning cup of coffee—are tools for gouging some poor peasant in El Salvador or Brazil. Somehow, the argument seems to go, if I were only willing to pay just a few cents more for my coffee and my country were willing to "let" the South Americans build their own merchant fleet, the peasant would stop starving and his country would develop rapidly.

In view of the succession of failures that have marked U.S. policy in Indochina a clear assessment of responsibility would seem to be in order. The Congress is, to be sure, talking about the need to reassert itself on questions of war and peace. But, strangely enough, there has been no inclination to isolate and condemn specific bureaucratic or political figures in connection with the Indochina debacle. The instrumentalities of our foreign policy were not always so sacrosanct.

As World War II ended, the Department of State came under heavy political attack for alleged errors and deviations. Shortly after resigning his position as Ambassador to China in November, 1945, Major General Patrick J. Hurley charged that "The weakness of the American foreign policy together with the Communist conspiracy within the State Department are responsible for the evils that are abroad in the world today."

Gustavo Gutierrez is a native of Peru and professor of theology at the Catholic University of Peru. He is also chaplain to the National Union of Catholic University Students and advisor to the Latin American Bishops Conference. Gutierrez is widely credited with having coined the term "liberation theology," and with the recent publication of his A Theology of Liberation (Orbis; 323 pp.; $7.95/4.95) North American readers are challenged by a major systematic effort to articulate the meaning of the Christian gospel in terms attuned to the revolutionary ferment in Latin America.

Among most analysts concerned with the morality of warfare, the rule of proportionality— that the seriousness of the damages inflicted must not exceed the seriousness of the injury to be prevented by the war—holds a central place. That rule was prominent in several recent contributions to this magazine, including ones by me and by Paul Ramsey (see the issues of April and November, 1972). In any application of the rule one must take into account damages and benefits to all participants and observers: "our" side, "their" side, those caught in between and the presumed beneficiaries elsewhere.

To the outside world the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution which convulsed the People's Republic of China from 1966 until 1969 looked like a whole society gone mad. An aging and seemingly demented revolutionary leader had unleashed a teenage rabble on the middle and upper-level leadership of the new China and paralyzed the economic, cultural and educational life of the largest nation on earth. Now, three years after the close of the Cultural Revolution, those of us who have been able in recent months to visit a more stable and tranquil China have come away with a different impression.

There is a story evidently true, about a conversation between the brothers Reinhold and H. Richard Niebuhr as they were returning from a joint lecture at Princeton University sometime in early 1941. The two brothers had gone quite separate ways on what was then referred to as "the interventionist issue" (in Europe), and the debate continued in the car. H. Richard bemoaned the way in which nations had come to deal with each other—by way of lying, cheating, coercion, hatred, fear, aggression and so on. As he talked Reinhold became more and more restless until at last he burst forth: "Yes, but Helmut, don't you know that's how nations have always treated each other!"