At the very core of Washington's diplomatic and political consciousness is an issue-the Panama Canal-that is providing a severe and illuminating test of America's post-Vietnam global intentions and of the U.S. government's post-Watergate capacity to compose a responsible foreign policy. The issue centers on the effort, conducted intermittently for the 11 years since the Panamanian "flag riots" of 1964, to negotiate a new treaty replacing the Hay-Bunau-Varilla Treaty of 1903. Signed for Panama by a French commission agent at Secretary of State John Hay's home two hours before the arrival of the official commission Panama had sent to negotiate, that agreement granted the United States "in perpetuity the use, occupation and control" of a ten-mile-wide zone to build, run and protect a canal. "We shall have a Treaty," Hay said, "vastly advantageous to the United States, and we must confess, not so advantageous to Panama."

In Panama no one disputes this judgment. In Washington, however, an intense argument has raged both within the executive branch and the Congress, and between them. The dispute goes to the question of how the Panamanian tie should be modernized-whether by small U.S. concessions that would leave the substance of the 1903 relationship intact, or by a new treaty that would restore the Zone to Panama within a fixed term yet would ensure to America the continued use of what remains an "indispensable international waterway." On the outcome of this contest rest not merely substantial foreign policy interests but, in some measure, President Ford's prospect for reelection. This is what has made the Panama issue so singular and so hard.


The frustrations that boiled up into the riots of 1964 were those of a classical colonial situation-colonial not just in the objective American treatment of Panama but in the subjective failure of many Americans to perceive that the situation was and is of that character. The Canal Zone cuts Panama in half. The U.S. Army entirely runs the Zone: canal, civilian administration, defense. Even for Panamanians, only American law holds in the Zone. Over the years, despite Hay-Bunau Varilla language limiting the American military role to caring for the "safety and protection of the Canal," the Army had pyramided a structure of facilities and missions centering on hemispheric defense. It would not lease back unused Zone lands and waters needed for Panama's own fast-growing population. Improvements in economic benefits came only slowly and inadequately in the eyes of Panamanians. They could daily see and feel the grating contrast between the high subsidized standard of living and suburban life-style of the 40,000 American Zonians (5,000 civilian Zone employees and 10,000 military personnel, plus dependents), and the much lower income levels of their own 1.6 million. Coloring the overall Panamanian perception was the awareness that the 1903 treaty, by granting the United States rights "in perpetuity," not only established Panama's humiliation but perpetuated it, balking relief and change. In 1964 the tinder caught. Panamanian students sought to fly their country's flag at a high school in the Zone, as the United States government had conceded Panamanians could do. But some American students resisted. The ensuing explosion left 21 Panamanians and three Americans dead.

President Johnson responded, when the dust had settled, by opening negotiations on a new treaty. But it was never clear whether the two governments intended to achieve an agreement or, by settling into a posture of negotiation, soften pressures to achieve one. At least until recently, this ambivalence of purpose, the result of a lack of self-confidence on the Panamanian side and a surfeit of insensitivity on the American side, has been the distinctive quality of Canal negotiations. In any event, the Johnson-period negotiations got nowhere.

In the year of the riots, Richard Nixon had said that the United States should negotiate "the little irritating things" but there should be "no give" on control: "If the United States retreats one inch in this respect, we will have raised serious doubts about our bases throughout the world." Once he was in the White House, the Canal fell victim to the relative inattention Washington paid to Latin America and to Third World areas and issues not thought critical to the global balance of power. Nixon reviewed the Johnson negotiating position and concluded that national security required sticking to a tough position; any new treaty should let Washington retain control for up to 80 more years, including the period in which the United States could exercise an option to build a sea-level canal or another, third set of locks. The Panamanians, one notes, regard extension of American jurisdiction beyond the 1903 treaty's centennial as unthinkable.

A congressionally authorized Atlantic-Pacific Interoceanic Canal Study Commission conspicuously consumed six years (1964-1970) studying the feasibility of a sea-level canal in several other Central American states-thereby reminding Panama that Washington had other options. The Commission finally recommended that a sea-level canal be built in Panama by the end of the century to handle the expected larger ships and greater traffic. Before and since, this and similar calls for "major modernization," which presumably only the United States could finance and carry through, have become the principal substitute offered by partisans of the status quo in place of the modernization of political relations sought by Panama. Nixon's (and Johnson's) Panama negotiator, Robert B. Anderson, resigned in 1973. U.S. policy was at a dead end. The initiative was shifting to Panama.


Omar Torrijos, a colonel of the National Guard, Panama's sole military force, ousted the oligarchy's elected president in 1968. To his critics a puppet and stalking horse for Cuba or Russia, now-General Torrijos, 46, impresses other observers as a determined and calculating politician. He uses populist social policies, nationalistic rhetoric and his friendship with Fidel Castro to hold in check the popular emotions and political challenges that otherwise might roar through the gates and make negotiations with the United States impossible. From the moment he took power he tried, by steering domestic political outrage toward particular Canal grievances, to squeeze concessions out of the United States. For instance, though he had himself studied at a Southern Command facility in the Zone, he demanded that SOUTHCOM reduce its non-Canal functions on the ground that these make Panama an unwilling partner of American policies about which it is not consulted.

When Washington rebuffed this and other similar approaches, Torrijos hit upon the bold tactic of "internationalizing" Panama's complaint. Taking advantage of the prevailing winds blowing upon the United States in the United Nations, he invited the Security Council to meet in Panama City in March 1973. Barely a month before, the House Merchant Marine and Fisheries Committee, a major bastion of Canal orthodoxy, had demanded that the United States retain "undiluted sovereignty" and had even recommended that a new radio station be set up to tutor Panamanians in the benefits of the status quo. A Security Council resolution, however, took the position that the issue should be settled promptly on the basis of restored Panamanian sovereignty. Miffed to be embarrassed at the very scene of the alleged offense, in a region it had previously regarded as closed to political reach from outside the hemisphere, Washington curtly cast a veto. But in the new U.N. session of 1975-76, Panama will have its own Security Council seat, obtained in a regional horse trade with Argentina. Already ensconced on every Latin agenda, the issue of Panama has become an international fixture.

It was the shock of these events that induced Nixon to launch, and Gerald Ford to continue, the positive new line of policy being played out now. The propaganda and political beating administered in the United Nations helped transform the issue within the U.S. government from a modest regional matter, which could safely be left in a state of stagnation, into a major priority. That Nixon was then deeply immersed in Watergate was, on this issue, helpful. His distraction let Secretary of State Henry Kissinger move forward despite the fact that movement was sure to arouse precisely those conservatives in the Congress and country on whom Nixon presumably was relying to help bail him out of an impeachment. But Kissinger geared up, appointing senior diplomat Ellsworth Bunker, now 81, as his special Canal negotiator in the fall of 1973, and a year later William D. Rogers, a Democrat and former Alliance-for-Progress administrator, as his Assistant Secretary for Inter-American Affairs. His new post gave Bunker, a former ambassador to South Vietnam, the opportunity to end his career with a success. As for Rogers, he had long shared the Panamanians' sense of the importance of a Canal solution to both countries.

Kissinger was by then ready to respond to advisers and critics urging that the United States repair its neglect of Third World areas and issues. "The United States has been torn by many problems," he explained to Latin American foreign ministers, meeting them for the first time early in 1974. In recent years Latin America has repeatedly asserted a determination to reduce its dependence on the United States, but Washington, while respecting the Latins' desire for a new relationship, remains at least as interested as they in a "special" one. As Kissinger started dipping into Latin affairs, he found that there was more actual community of interest and more personal responsiveness than he had been led to believe. His emphasis on access to Latin resources and markets and on the businesslike working out of disputes touching trade and investment has had in it little of the high-minded, but frustrated, appeal of the Alliance. But there has been in it room and rationale for ending long-abrasive bilateral disputes with Mexico and Peru and for easing the last two major political anachronisms in the hemisphere. The first of these is the lingering shadow of the cold war represented by the now-fading "isolation" of Cuba. The second is the stark reality of turn-of-the-century imperialism represented by the American grip on the Panama Canal. "Philosophically, all Latins are hooked on the Canal. It's the one issue all Latins agree on," one American diplomat has said. It is also the one issue on which all Latin governments cooperate in practical terms-even those conservative governments which grimace at the thought of the prestige which a new treaty would confer on the populist Torrijos.

On another level, Kissinger has, I believe, been tentatively searching since Vietnam for a way for the United States to deal effectively with the insistent nationalism of smaller and weaker states. He seems to sense not only its force and the support it evokes from other states but the limitations on dealing with it imposed by America's own ambivalence. Much of what is involved here is perhaps whether we can stop regarding particular diplomatic encounters as though they were tests either of our national manhood or of our resolve to stay in the great-power game. For if we do not manage thus to shrink the stakes in our diplomacy in a place like Panama, abiding symbol of the "big stick" of the past, then a solution fades virtually out of sight.

Yet Kissinger has not been without his own ambivalence on this score: the U.S. response to seizure of the Mayaguez, for instance, showed exactly the determination to stand up forcefully to a challenge by a small nation that his critics now find lacking in his approach to Panama. But while in Panama on February 7, 1974, to sign a joint declaration of Eight Principles governing negotiations for a new treaty, Kissinger accepted the Canal as a test of a new American international style that would be based not on "relative strength" but on "conciliation." To this end, he stated that "in the great dialogue between the developed and the less developed we cannot find answers anywhere if we do not find them here in the Western Hemisphere."

The Eight Principles grew out of a suggestion which Panamanian Foreign Minister Juan Antonio Tack offered in 1972 to keep the then-flagging negotiations alive. It fitted well the similar approach often used by Kissinger to make a start, or a fresh start, in heavy weather. By the chief Principle, the United States undertook to abandon its claim of rights "in perpetuity"-the phrase of 1903 which most offends Panamanian sensibilities. Left to subsequent negotiation were the specific terms, including duration, of a new treaty to cover the period until Panama takes over both full responsibility for the Canal and full control over the Zone. Kissinger moved on quickly to his first hemispheric foreign ministers meeting two weeks later to collect the plaudits which this earnest of a "new era" had won. Negotiators Bunker and Tack sat down to work.


Instantly, the opposition began to congeal. And here one must explore the Canal's unique popular appeal. "When I am home in my district, there is only one thing I can say that invariably makes them cheer," says Representative David Bowen (Republican-Mississippi). "I say that if we can keep the striped-pants boys out of it and leave the Canal to the Corps of Engineers, then things will work out fine." Many Americans, especially of the older generation, have been brought up to regard the Canal as an engineering marvel which only the United States could have built and run, and as emblematic of an entirely beneficent and successful way to help raise up a less fortunate people. The combination of technology in the service of commerce, and power in the service of uplift, stirs deep feelings in the breasts of people who simply do not understand why Panamanians would wish to object. Then, too, many Americans view the Zone as sovereign, and therefore unrelinquishable, territory-despite the 1903 treaty's unequivocal assertion in its preamble that the United States was only acquiring "control of the necessary territory . . . the sovereignty of such territory being actually vested in the Republic of Panama."

I felt closest to understanding these sentiments when I heard the voice of an otherwise liberal senator swell with pride as he recalled his excitement at first seeing the locks: "Ships come up like toys in a bathtub." He slipped easily into arguments commonly heard from conservatives, declaring the Canal "ours" and not to be "negotiated away" and pronouncing himself "appalled by the instability of the Panamanian government and the students."

Out-and-out conservatives like Senator Strom Thurmond (Republican-South Carolina), leader of the hard core of 20 or so Senators who resist all but cosmetic change, see the State Department as in effect the agent of a hostile power and regard the treaty negotiation as the "giveaway" of a vital strategic asset to communists. In the House, the rallying point for a similar hard core of some 100 Congressmen is Representative Daniel Flood (Democrat-Pennsylvania), who traces his fervor and expertise to childhood contact with both the Canal and Teddy Roosevelt. Flood is a principal spokesman for the Zonians, a community-including some members of the third generation-which assumes an easy identity between its own perquisites (job preferences, post-exchange privileges, tropical pay differential, and so on) and the nation's interest.

Such are the political passions drenching this issue that it is easy to overlook the strictly economic factors that favor a new treaty. For important as the Canal is to American commerce-it carries nine percent of American foreign trade, one percent of world trade-it may be becoming less so. The new, larger ships which now dominate ocean commerce cannot pass through the 61-year-old waterway. Ship transits dipped below the standard 14,000-plus level last year. The Panama Canal Company is contemplating a request to Congress for a quick $100 million to make the minor improvements necessary to allow passage of some of these larger ships. But most of them could still not get through, and raising tolls to cover even the minor improvements apparently would risk losing cargoes to other routes and carriers.

As ships get bigger, furthermore, the need for either a sea-level canal or a third set of locks becomes simultaneously more pressing and more difficult of attainment. Not only would the costs be immense but Congress would be reluctant to participate if American control were not assured. Therefore, though "major modernization" under American auspices is the constant cry of conservative elements-their earnest of good faith to the Panamanians-it is being made less probable by rising construction costs, uncertain business, and political change. Significantly, Panama, which gains 15 to 30 percent of its gross national product from the waterway and auxiliary activities, seems readier to accept this prospect than are American conservatives. It is eager to conclude the negotiations promptly and successfully so that it can get on with other development projects which do not hinge on major modernization of the Canal.

The AFL-CIO, which claims 17,000 duespayers (mostly Panamanian) in the Zone work force, opposes any new treaty which does not preserve the position of organized labor. Some environmentalists have expressed the fear that the digging of a sea-level canal would mix the waters and marine life of the two oceans. This is a matter in dispute among scientists. It provoked Congressman Flood, a new-locks man not previously known as an environmentalist, to forecast the spread of Pacific sea snakes into the Atlantic "as far north as Virginia."

But the chief force that has been behind the status quo is the military. Ever since the United States established a two-ocean navy and built carriers too big to transit, the waterway has had no important strategic role, though the Pentagon correctly declares that it is a vital American interest that it be kept open. The Army makes most of the Canal. It operates the facility, administers the Zone, and protects the whole package. Its Southern Command, sometimes known for its abundance of generals and golf courses as "Southern Comfort," clings to its support mission-largely training-of military programs throughout the hemisphere. Beyond specific service interest lies the military's impulse to hold on to all of its far-flung lodgments against whatever contingencies its strategic planners may formulate. On this contingency basis, for instance, the Navy has clung to a seaplane ramp site, though seaplanes faded from use years ago. It is conceded that the American forces in the Zone would be powerless against a serious threat from external conventional forces, let alone one involving nuclear weapons. That a popular uprising, guerrilla action and sabotage are the only contingencies seriously imaginable there, that these would most likely arise in response to the unyielding clasp of the United States: these considerations are brushed aside. The Pentagon, the arm of government which most represents the projection of American power, is the temple of those Americans who identify the American position in Panama with destiny as well as defense. By tradition, the Joint Chiefs of Staff are the priests of this temple; the veterans organizations, its acolytes.

It was no surprise, then, that some in Congress received the Eight Principles signed by Kissinger and Tack as a call to the barricades. The newly proposed treaty had no organized constituency, the Canal has a sprawling one accessible to a tight Washington lobby. In March 1974, Senator Thurmond introduced a resolution, which quickly got the 34 signatures necessary to block ratification of an eventual instrument, insisting upon retention of "undiluted sovereignty." Similar resolutions were introduced in the House. Much to the satisfaction of that body, which often feels upstaged by the Senate on foreign policy issues, it is now conceded that legislation by the House would be required to supplement the ratification of a treaty by the Senate. Article IV of the Constitution gives "Congress . . . power to dispose of . . . the territory or other property belonging to the United States," and the Administration grants without argument that the return of territory is involved in this case and that therefore some part of the treaty package must be submitted to the House (for action by majority vote).

Notwithstanding these evident pressures, the State Department adhered-until May 1975-to a tactical decision to avoid making a concerted effort to win support for the treaty until a draft of it was near. To make such an effort, it was reasoned, would attract publicity that opponents in both countries might use to spoil the talks. The likely length of the negotiations, their uncertain outcome, and the embarrassment of having to conceal-or worse, disclose-differences between State and Defense, all fed into the decision. Whether it was correct, however, is now questioned even by some who contributed to it. For the opposition was given a long lead time to develop its own campaign. Some would-be supporters started to drift away and others complained that the Administration was leaving them exposed and alone. Relations with Congress on foreign policy have been a mine-field through most of the Nixon-Ford Administration. The Vietnam War notwithstanding, congressional challenge is not a monopoly of the Left. Whatever his stature elsewhere, Kissinger is altogether mortal on Capitol Hill. By one aide's account, he did not realize the depth of congressional feeling on Panama until this June when, at a breakfast of the GOP's Chowder and Marching Society, Representative W. Henson Moore (Republican-Louisiana) told him, "No matter how rational you are about the treaty, it will be bitterly opposed in Baton Rouge, and Ford will lose Louisiana."

By this time Thurmond had already gathered 37 Senators on the 1975 model of his resolution to block a new treaty, and had personally warned Kissinger not to send up a treaty. Not all of the 37 could be considered firm-one Senate liberal, for example, explained privately that, in his unfamiliarity with the issue, he had accepted the negative counsel of a home-state colleague-but Thurmond had begun lining up against a treaty some Senators who had not co-sponsored the resolution. In the House, Representative Gene Snyder (Republican-Kentucky) suddenly offered, on June 26, as a floor amendment to the State Department's appropriations bill, a ban on spending any funds to "negotiate the surrender or the relinquishment of any United States rights in the Panama Canal Zone." Snyder frankly meant to derail the negotiations. Representative Ralph Metcalfe (Democrat-Illinois), who as chairman of Merchant Marine's Canal subcommittee had probed outdated racial practices in the Zone, warned that foreclosing negotiations after 11 years would produce a foreign policy disaster. Others joined him in pointing out the constitutional impasse that would result if the President's negotiating authority was thus choked off. But Representative L. H. Fountain (Democrat-North Carolina) pronounced himself "sick and tired of seeing America continue to yield and yield." Representative Bill Alexander (Democrat-Arkansas) suggested that if the Canal were returned to Panama, "the next thing we know the Soviet Union is going to want Alaska back." No less than 410 members chose to vote on the Snyder Amendment and it carried by a bipartisan 246 to 164. Senator Harry Byrd (Independent-Virginia) introduced a companion measure in the Senate.

Prior to this vote-and doubtless contributing to it-there had been contacts between the Pentagon and the Congress that suggested major Pentagon reservations. The military volcano had started to rumble, and legislators found Pentagon officials easing off their posture of noncommittal neutrality. ("Oh, yes, very important issue") and sliding into outright opposition. The Navy took 20 Congressmen for a boat ride while a full admiral delivered a Canal massage. On June 27, 1975, Howard Callaway, retiring as Secretary of the Army to become President Ford's 1976 campaign manager, disclosed in a newspaper interview the open secret that Defense and State were still split over the terms of a new treaty; he said it was "not just the right wing" but "moderates" who opposed it, and he would tell Ford so. Canal negotiator Bunker had broken his silence in May and started going to the public and Congress, warning that, without change, "we would likely find ourselves engaged in hostilities with an otherwise friendly country." "Another Vietnam," anxious liberals prophesied. "Another Suez," conservatives rejoined. Kissinger was by then putting treaty plugs into his own speeches around the country. But Ford himself was mum. Callaway's statement raised the very real possibility that a pressing piece of foreign policy business would be sidetracked as a result of the President's perceived political need to protect his conservative flank in an election year. White House advisers Donald Rumsfeld and Robert Hartman were nursing this view. House Minority Leader John Rhodes (Republican-Arizona) advised that it would be "political suicide" to proceed.


Ellsworth Bunker had long held that he would not go to Panama to negotiate any sub-issue on which a unified U.S. government position had not been reached. From March onwards, two such issues remained. On one, duration of a new treaty, State argued for a term at or near the Panamanians' politically imperative figure of 25 years-hardly overnight-at the end of which time America would relinquish jurisdiction both for purposes of operating the Canal and for defense; however, the Pentagon insisted on negotiation of a separate agreement, renewable beyond the term of 25 years, covering just the Canal's defense. On the second issue, the extent of Zone lands and waters to be retained by the United States during the treaty period, the Pentagon's claims were considerably broader than State's.

In the face of these unresolved departmental differences, Bunker's expected return to Panama in July was postponed and it appeared that negotiations might come to an effective halt for 18 months or two years or however long it would take a reelected or new Chief Executive to focus again on the Canal, assuming-as one could hardly assume-that Panama would patiently fold its hands and wait.

Through July the battle raged. Defense had the raw power, though Secretary James R. Schlesinger had handed over his department's brief to his deputy, William Clements. Kissinger's team believed it had greater departmental consistency and superior preparation of positions. Against the contention of some officers that Panama could not be trusted with the defense of the Canal was set the candid private admission of General George Brown, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, that since potential Panamanian violence or sabotage was the real threat, the Canal could be protected better with than without the consent of the Panamanians. Panama's alleged instability and vulnerability to communism were set against the impetus that would be given to those dangers if Torrijos' relatively moderate approach to negotiations collapsed under what was seen as American stonewalling. The probable decline of the Canal as an American economic asset and the great hurdles to building a new canal were pointed out. It was observed to the Pentagon that if it meant what it said about favoring a new treaty, it would have to facilitate the change necessary to negotiate one. Anyway, the State Department argued, with a new treaty the United States would enjoy substantial control for several more decades. Without a treaty, use would be in some jeopardy and the diplomatic toll could be immense. Those who contended that a treaty would be a political millstone around Ford's neck were met with the argument that failure on a treaty would produce a diplomatic catastrophe that would itself undercut the President's election-year need to appear able and successful in international affairs.

On the eve of his trip to Europe at the end of July, Ford instructed the two departments to prepare for him a unified government position that would be negotiable with Panama. This represented tentative victory for the State Department. The bureaucratic contest had evidently convinced the President that policy required and politics permitted a treaty.

And while the President was in Europe, another forward step was taken. New-treaty stalwarts Senator Gale McGee (Democrat-Wyoming) and Senator Hubert Humphrey (Democrat-Minnesota) unleashed their aides to mount a campaign that found 60-plus Senators ready to vote against the anti-treaty resolution being moved toward a floor vote by Senator Harry Byrd. The United States Catholic Conference, sensitized on this issue by Panamanian Archbishop Marcos McGrath, lobbied notably hard.1 Counting heads, Byrd did not even send his resolution to the floor. This campaign, though mounted behind the scenes, was the first show of congressional strength in support of the State Department's position. As such, it was a useful exhibit to present to a President who might be wondering how the political winds would blow. Ford could see, too, that Panama was raising the diplomatic stakes. In August, Panama applied to join the bloc of "nonaligned" countries to mobilize pressure on the United States at the United Nations. General Torrijos let it be known that Panama was preparing to ask this fall's session of the General Assembly to indict Washington for "colonialism."

Returning from Europe, President Ford reviewed the state of bureaucratic, political and diplomatic play and apparently arrived at a clear-cut decision. It was soon announced that Ambassador Bunker would return to Panama to resume negotiations immediately after Labor Day, and American Ambassador William Jorden, pleased to be bearing promise of progress after five months of delay, so informed General Torrijos on August 10. The resumption can only mean that Bunker has received presidential instructions, particularly on the disputed issues of duration and lands and waters to be retained, and that the differences between State and Defense have been resolved at least for the time being.

One can only speculate on the factors that entered into the President's August decision. In the internal debate, it would appear that the principal Defense considerations had been more or less answered and that the political objections were accordingly reduced at least to bearable levels. Assuming that the Joint Chiefs are now aboard on the new negotiating position, Ford may well have calculated that, when the issue actually comes to the Congress, congressional opposition can be reduced to a manageable hard core. Moreover, if the concurrence of the Pentagon holds firm, the size and impact of any conservative backlash should be trimmed, if not eliminated, as the President heads into an election year.


Looking to the future, it is not clear at what pace the negotiations will now proceed and whether a treaty might be completed in the next few months. Even if this were accomplished, the President would face a serious question whether to submit a completed treaty to the Hill at once or to wait until the nonelection year of 1977. For the Panamanians the irreducible minimum has been to get the treaty negotiated and signed. They might well be prepared to let ratification float for a year or so in the quadrennial tide of American politics. In sum, it is far from certain that all of the pieces will eventually be put together, but this now seems possible, if not likely, to some of those closest to the process.

"Diplomacy" is a misnomer for that process. For that word, suggesting a careful sifting and blending of national interests by discreet professionals, simply fails to convey the contest of political forces-between departments, between branches of government, between presidential advisers of differing persuasions and responsibilities-which temper the conduct of foreign policy. The Canal is an issue on which, one hopes, the right outcome is resulting in terms of the country's broad national interests. This is coming about, however, less from an orderly analysis and common perception of those interests than from an unchanneled process that reflects all of the diffusion of purpose and fragmentation of power current in Washington today.


1 See Marcos G. McGrath, "Ariel or Caliban?" Foreign Affairs, October 1973.

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