After Mossadegh, Who?

Fifteen times during the past three weeks, Assistant Secretary of State George McGhee set out on a little ritual. He would proceed to the suite of Iran's Premier Mohammed Mossadegh, enter, sit down by the Premier's bedside, talk for an hour or two, then depart.

Whether the setting was Washington, New York or Teheran, the Walter Reed Hospital or the Shoreham Hotel, whether the Western spokesman was Henry Grady, W. Averell Harriman or Richard Stokes, talking with 72-year-old Mohammed Mossadegh had already become one of the more futile exercises in modern diplomacy. By last weekend it was increasingly clear that the McGhee talks were no exception. As they ended, Mossadegh still held steadfastly to his old position, the West still held the bag. The Iranian Prime Minister would not let British technicians manage Iran's oil industry; he also asked a wholesale price for his country's oil that both Britain and the U.S. considered too high.

Mossadegh's visit seemed to have achieved only one concrete result--to widen the disagreement between the U.S. ; and Great Britain over Mossadegh himself. Washington regards him as an honest fanatic who is hard to deal with, but preferable to the Communist Tudeh Party which might take over Iran if he should fall. London regards Mossadegh distastefully as a man who humiliated Britain, broke a contract, and cannot be trusted. Also, says Whitehall, he is a second-rate politician whose only stock in trade was nationalization of oil. To continue such a second-rater in office when Iran's economy is faltering is to court sure disaster.

British Candidate. But the basic difference between London and Washington is over this question: After Mossadegh, who? The British do not think that the Tudeh's hour has struck. They have a successor in mind, and believe he may yet come to power: wily, vain, 77-year-old Millionaire-Landowner Ahmed Qavam. Qavam onca even outsmarted the Russians. Right after the war, the Reds demanded an Iranian oil concession, and gave emphasis to their demand by hanging on to Iran's northern provinces of Azerbaijan, Gilan, Mazan-daran, and parts of Khurasan. Qavam, then Premier for the third time, helped get the Reds out by agreeing to set up a joint Russo-Iranian oil company, subject, of course, to the Iranian parliament's approval. Imagine Qavam's surprise, after the Reds left, when the Majlis (parliament) turned down his oil agreement.

Later, a sour Russian diplomat paid Qavam a worthy tribute: "Qavam is a man of great integrity. You can buy him, but he won't stay bought." The British Foreign Office says it has no illusions about Qavam, but regards him as perhaps the only man who can satisfy the mobs and at the same time make a realistic oil deal with the West.

Royal Dish. This week, as Mossadegh got set to fly home (he indignantly denied that the Shah had ordered him home), he faced the toughest crisis of his short, spectacular stay in office. When he kicked the British out, he promised Iran that there would be plenty for all. Instead, the loss of the $4,000,000 monthly oil revenue has brought Iran's government near to bankruptcy, its currency near to worthlessness, and the long-unpaid civil servants to the verge of striking. At the present rate, the Teheran government has only enough money left for another month. After that, it might even have to sell the crown jewels.

Inflation is fast robbing the people of their pretty green, blue and purple paper money; a kilo of black meat now costs an average day's wages--twice the price of a month ago. Chelow-kabab, the famed national dish of rice and meat, which cost 15 rials 60 days ago, is now 30. Poor Iranians grumbled: "Chelow-kabab is a royal dish now. Too rich to swallow." Bricklayer Hassan Rezaie expressed a growing bewilderment: "They tell me that oil has been nationalized. But the good life has not yet come." It was a dangerous game the British and Mossadegh were playing, while the U.S. aimlessly kibitzed, carrying on a listlessly polite conversation but putting forward no proposals of its own.

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